1  iJN 


N  BAM 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SET  IN  SILVER 


BOOKS  BY 

C.  N.  AND  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 


THE  LIGHTNING  CONDUCTOR 
THE  PRINCESS  PASSES 
MY  FRIEND  THE  CHAUFFEUR 
LADY  BETTY  ACROSS  THE  WATER 
ROSEMARY  IN  SEARCH  OF  A  FATHER 
THE  CAR  OF  DESTINY 
THE  CHAPERON 
THE  PRINCESS  VIRGINIA 
ETC.,  ETC. 


Audrie 


SET    IN    SILVER 


BY 


C.  N.  AND  A.  M.  WILLIAMSON 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
MCMIX 


All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of  translation 
into  foreign  languages,  including  the  Scandinavian 


Copyright,  1900,  by 
DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 


Published,  April,  1909 


1521447 


P5 
33/7 


TO  A  GREAT  MAN,  AND  A  GREAT  MOTORIST 

With  all  admiration  we  dedicate  our  story 
of  a  tour  in  the  land  he  loves. 

"...     this  little  world, 
This  precious  stone,  set  in  the  silver  sea 
That  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 
Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house, 
Against  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands, 
This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm, 
this  England." 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Audrie          ...... 

PAINTED  BY  P.  X.  LEYENDECKER 

FACING  PAGK 

A  Map  to  show  the  route  of  the  motor         .         .         86 
"  The  jewel  of  a  market  cross  "  ...       100 

"  The  policeman  explained  to  me  "...       150 

"  William  Rufus  couldn  't  have    chosen  a  more 

ideal  spot  to  die  in "    .          .          .          .          .       156 

In  Sir  Lionel's  county,  Cornwall          .          .          .        248 

PAINTED  BY  WILLIAM  PASCOE 

"  The  Yarn  Market  is  unique  in  England  "          .       316 
"  The  splendid  ruin,  reared  on  its  great  rock  "     .       376 

"  Its  twenty-one  towers  and  turrets  still  dominate 

bridge  and  river " 388 

"  There  were   twelve   or   fifteen   of   us  who  left 

Cragside  " 416 

"  Bamborough  surpasses  all  Northumbrian   cas- 
tles " 418 

PAINTED   BY  FRANK  SOUTHGATE 

"  The  exquisite  beauty  of  ruined  Fountains  Abbey  "       428 

PAINTED  BY  WAL  PAQET 

"  The  foaming  cauldron  of  the  Strid  "          .         .       430 


SET  IN  SILVER 


AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 
AT  CHAMPEL-LES-BAINS,  SWITZERLAND 

Rue  Chapeau  de  Marie  Antoinette 
Versailles,  July  Mh 

DARLING  LITTLE  FRENCH  MOTHER:  Things  have 
happened.  Fire-crackers !  Roman  candles !  rockets !  But 
don't  be  frightened.  They  're  all  in  my  head.  Never- 
theless I  have  n't  had  such  a  Fourth  of  July  since  I  was  a 
small  girl  in  America,  and  stood  on  a  tin  pail  with  a  whole 
pack  of  fire-crackers  popping  away  underneath. 

Is  n't  it  funny,  when  you  have  a  lot  to  tell,  it 's  not  hah* 
as  easy  to  write  a  letter  as  when  you  've  nothing  at  all  to 
say,  and  must  make  up  for  lack  of  matter  by  weaving 
phrases  ?  Now,  when  I  'm  suffering  from  a  determination 
of  too  many  words  to  my  pen,  they  all  run  together  in  a 
torrent,  and  I  don't  know  how  to  make  them  dribble 
singly  to  a  beginning. 

I  think  I  '11  talk  about  other  things  first.  That 's  the 
way  dear  Dad  used  to  do  when  he  had  exciting  news,  and 
loved  to  dangle  it  over  our  heads,  "cherry  ripe"  fashion, 
harping  on  the  weather  or  the  state  of  the  stock-market 
until  he  had  us  almost  dancing  with  impatience. 

Yes,  I  '11  dwell  on  other  things  first  —  but  not  irrelevant 
things,  for  I  '11  dwell  on  You  —  with  a  capital  Y,  which 
3 


4  SET   IN   SILVER 

is  the  only  proper  way  to  spell  You  —  and  You  are  never 
irrelevant.  You  could  n't  be,  whatever  was  happening. 
And  just  now  you  're  particularly  relevant,  though  you  're 
far  off  in  nice,  cool  Switzerland;  for  presently,  when  I 
come  to  the  Thing,  I  'm  going  to  ask  your  advice. 

It 's  very  convenient  having  a  French  mother,  and  I  do 
appreciate  dear  Dad's  Yankee  cleverness  in  securing  you 
in  the  family.  You  say  sometimes  that  I  seem  all  Ameri- 
can, and  that  you  're  glad;  which  is  pretty  of  you,  and  loyal 
to  father's  country,  but  I  'm  not  sure  whether  I  should  n't 
have  preferred  to  turn  out  more  like  my  mamma.  You  're 
so  complete,  somehow  —  as  Frenchwomen  are,  at  their 
best.  I  often  think  of  you  as  a  kind  of  pocket  combination 
of  Somebody's  Hundred  Best  Books:  Romance,  Practical 
Common  Sense,  Poetry,  Wit,  Wisdom,  Fancy  Cookery, 
etc.,  etc. 

Who  but  a  Frenchwoman  could  combine  all  these 
qualities  with  the  latest  thing  in  hair-dressing  and  the 
neatest  thing  in  stays  ?  By  the  way,  can  one's  stays  be  a 
quality  ?  Yes,  if  one  's  French  —  even  hah*  French  —  I 
believe  they  can. 

If  I  had  n't  just  got  your  letter  of  day  before  yesterday, 
assuring  me  that  you  feel  strong  and  fresh  —  almost  as 
if  you  'd  never  been  ill  —  I  should  n't  worry  you  for  advice. 
Only  a  few  weeks  ago,  if  suddenly  called  upon  for  it, 
you  'd  have  shown  signs  of  nervous  prostration.  I  shall 
never  forget  my  horror  when  you  (quite  uncontrollably) 
threw  a  spoon  at  Philomene  wrho  came  to  ask  whether  we 
would  have  soup  a  croute  or  potage  ci  la  bonne  femme  for 
dinner! 

Switzerland  was  an  inspiration;  mine,  I  flatter  myself. 


SET    IN    SILVER  5 

And  if,  in  telling  me  that  you  're  in  robust  health  again, 
you  're  hinting  at  an  intention  to  sneak  back  to  blazing 
Paris  before  the  middle  of  September,  you  don't  know 
your  Spartan  daughter.  All  that 's  American  in  me 
rises  to  shout  "No!"  And  you  need  n't  think  that  your 
child  is  bored.  She  may  be  boiled,  but  never  bored.  Far 
from  it,  as  you  shall  hear. 

School  breaks  up  to-morrow  —  breaks  into  little  blond 
and  brunette  bits,  which  will  blow  or  drift  off  to  their 
respective  homes;  and  I  should  by  this  time  be  packing 
to  visit  the  Despards,  where  I  'm  supposed  to  teach  Mimi's 
young  voice  to  soar,  as  compensation  for  holiday  hos- 
pitality; but  —  I'm  not  packing,  because  Ellaline  Leth- 
bridge  has  had  an  attack  of  nerves. 

You  won't  be  surprised  that  I  stopped  two  hours  over- 
time to-day  to  hold  the  hand  and  to  stroke  the  hair  of 
Ellaline.  I  've  done  that  before,  when  she  had  a  pain  in 
her  finger,  or  a  cold  in  her  little  nose,  and  sent  you  a 
petit  bleu  to  announce  that  I  could  n't  get  home  for  dinner 
and  our  happy  hour  together.  No,  you  won't  be  sur- 
prised at  my  stopping  —  or  that  Ellaline  should  have 
an  attack  of  nerves.  But  the  reason  for  the  attack 
and  the  cure  she  wants  me  to  give  her:  these  will 
surprise  you. 

Why,  it 's  almost  as  hard  to  begin,  after  all,  as  if  I 
had  n't  been  working  industriously  up  to  it  for  three  pages. 
But  here  goes! 

Dearest,  you  've  often  said,  and  I  've  agreed  with  you 
(or  else  it  was  the  other  way  round) ,  that  nothing  I  could 
ever  do  for  Ellaline  Lethbridge  would  be  too  much;  that 
she  could  n't  ask  any  sacrifice  of  me  which  would  be  too 


6  SET  IN  SILVER 

great.  Of  course,  one  does  say  these  things  until  one  is 
tested.  But  —  I  wonder  if  there  is  a  "  but "  ? 

Of  course  you  believe  that  your  one  chick  has  a  glorious 
voice,  and  that  it 's  a  cruel  shame  she  should  be  doing 
nothing  better  than  teaching  other  people's  chicks  to  squall, 
whether  their  voices  are  worth  squalling  with  or  not. 
Perhaps,  though,  mine  may  n't  be  as  remarkable  an  organ 
as  we  think;  and  even  if  you  had  n't  made  me  give  up  trying 
for  light  opera,  because  I  received  one  Insult  (with  a 
capital  I)  while  I  was  Madame  Larese's  favourite  pupil,  I 
might  n't  in  any  case  have  turned  into  a  great  prima  donna. 
I  was  rather  excited  and  amused  by  the  Insult  myself  —  it 
made  me  feel  so  interesting,  and  so  like  a  heroine  of 
romance;  but  you  did  n't  approve  of  it;  and  we  had  some 
hard  times,  had  n't  we,  after  all  our  money  was  spent  in 
globe-trotting,  and  lessons  for  me  from  the  immortal 
Larese  ? 

If  it  had  n't  been  for  meeting  Ellaline,  and  Ellaline 
falling  a  victim  to  my  modest  charms,  and  insisting  upon 
Madame  de  Maluet's  taking  me  as  a  teacher  of  singing 
for  her  "  celebrated  finishing  school  for  Young  Ladies," 
what  would  have  become  of  us,  dearest,  with  you  so  deli- 
cate, me  so  young,  and  both  of  us  so  poor  and  alone  in  a 
big  world  ?  I  really  don't  know,  and  you  've  often  said 
you  did  n't. 

Of  course,  if  it  had  n't  been  for  Ellaline  —  Madame's 
richest  and  most  important  girl  —  persisting  as  she  did, 
in  her  imperious,  spoiled-child  way,  Madame  would  n't 
have  dreamed  of  engaging  a  young  girl  like  me,  without 
any  experience  as  a  teacher,  no  matter  how  much  she  liked 
my  voice  and  my  (or  rather  Larese's)  method.  I  suppose 


SET  IN  SILVER  7 

no  one  would  else  have  risked  me;  so  I  certainly  do  owe 
to  Ellaline,  and  nobody  but  Ellaline,  three  happy  and 
(fairly)  prosperous  years.  To  be  sure,  because  of  my  posi- 
tion at  Madame  de  Maluet's,  I  have  got  a  few  outside 
pupils;  but  that 's  indirectly  through  Ellaline,  too,  is  n't  it  ? 

I  'm  reminding  you  of  all  these  things  so  that  you  may 
have  it  clearly  before  your  mind  just  how  much  we  do  owe 
Ellaline,  and  judge  whether  the  payment  she  now  asks  is 
too  big  or  not. 

That 's  the  way  she  puts  it,  not  coarsely  or  crudely;  but 
I  know  how  she  feels. 

She  sent  me  a  little  note  yesterday,  while  I  was  giving  a 
lesson,  to  say  she  'd  a  horrid  headache,  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  would  I  come  to  her  room  as  soon  as  I  could.  Well, 
I  went  at  lunch  time,  for  I  hated  to  keep  her  waiting,  and 
thought  I  could  eat  later.  As  it  turned  out,  I  did  n't  eat 
at  all.  But  that 's  a  detail. 

Shfrhad  on  a  perfectly  divine  nighty,  with  low  neck  and 
short  sleeves  (no  girl  would  be  allowed  to  wear  such  a  thing 
in  any  but  a  French  school,  I  'm  sure,  even  if  she  were  a 
"  parlour  boarder  ")  and  her  hair  was  in  curly  waves  over 
her  shoulders.  Altogether  she  looked  adorable,  and  about 
fourteen  years  old,  instead  of  nearly  nineteen,  as  she  is. 

"  You  don't  show  your  headache  a  bit,"  said  I. 

**  I  have  n't  got  one,"  said  she. 

Then  she  explained  that  she  'd  been  dying  for  a  chance 
to  talk  with  me  alone,  and  the  headache  was  the  only  thing 
that  occurred  to  her  in  the  circumstances.  She  does  n't 
mind  little  fibs,  you  know.  Indeed,  I  believe  she  rather 
likes  them,  because  any  "  intrigue,"  even  the  smallest,  is 
exciting  to  her. 


8  SET  IN  SILVER 

You  would  never  guess  anything  like  what  has  happened 

That  dragon  of  a  guardian  of  hers  is  coming  back  al 
last  from  Bengal,  where  he  's  been  governor  or  something 
Not  that  his  coming  would  matter  particularly  if  it  were  n'1 
for  complications,  but  there  are  several,  the  most  formid- 
able of  which  is  a  Young  Man. 

The  Young  Man  is  a  French  young  man,  and  his  name 
is  Honore  du  Guesclin.  He  is  a  lieutenant  in  the  arm} 
(Ellaline  mentioned  the  regiment  with  pride,  but  I  'v( 
forgotten  it  already,  there  was  so  much  else  to  remember) 
and  she  says  he  is  descended  from  the  great  Du  Guesclin 
She  met  him  at  Madame  de  Blanchemain's  — you  remem- 
ber the  Madame  de  Blanchemain  who  was  Ellaline's  deac 
mother's  most  intimate  friend,  and  who  lives  at  St.  Cloud  i 
Ellaline  has  spent  all  her  holidays  there  ever  since  I  'v( 
known  her;  but  though  I  thought  she  told  me  everything 
(she  always  vowed  she  did),  not  a  word  did  she  evei 
breathe  about  a  young  man  having  risen  over  her  horizon 
She  says  she  did  n't  dare,  because  I  'm  so  "  queer  and  print 
about  some  things."  I  'm  not,  am  I  ?  But  now  she  '* 
driven  to  confess,  as  she  's  in  the  most  awful  scrape,  anc 
does  n't  know  what  will  become  of  her  and  "  darling 
Honore,"  unless  I  '11  consent  to  help  them. 

She  met  him  only  last  Easter.  He  's  a  nephew  oi 
Madame  de  Blanchemain's,  it  seems;  and  on  coming  bad 
from  foreign  service  in  Algeria,  or  somewhere,  he  dutifullj 
paused  to  visit  his  relative.  Of  course  it  occurs  to  me,  Did 
Madame  de  Blanchemain  write  and  intimate  that  she 
would  have  in  the  house  a  pretty  little  Anglo-Frenct 
heiress,  with  no  inconvenient  relatives,  unless  one  counts 
the  Dragon?  But  Ellaline  says  Honore's  coming  was 


SET  IN  SILVER  9 

quite  a  surprise  to  his  aunt.  Anyway,  he  proposed  on  the 
third  day,  and  Ellaline  accepted  him.  It  was  by  moonlight, 
in  a  garden,  so  who  can  blame  the  poor  child  ?  I  always 
thought  if  even  a  moderately  good-looking  young  man  pro- 
posed to  me  by  moonlight,  in  a  garden,  I  would  say 
"  Yes  — yes!"  at  once,  even  if  I  changed  my  mind  next  day- 

But  Honore  is  very  good  looking  (she  has  his  picture  in  a 
locket,  with  such  a  turned-up  moustache  — I  mean 
Honore,  not  the  locket),  and  so  Ellaline  did  n't  change  her 
mind  next  day. 

Not  a  word  was  said  to  Madame  de  Blanchemain  (as 
far  as  Ellaline  knows),  for  they  decided  that,  considering 
everything,  they  must  keep  their  secret,  and  eventually 
run  away  to  be  married;  because  Honore  is  poor,  and 
Ellaline  's  an  heiress  guarded  by  a  Dragon. 

Well,  through  letters  which  E.  has  been  receiving  at  a 
teashop  where  she  and  the  other  older  girls  go,  rigorously 
chaperoned,  twice  a  week,  it  was  arranged  to  do  the  deed 
as  soon  as  school  should  close;  and  if  they  could  have 
carried  out  their  plan,  Ellaline  would  have  been  Madame 
du  Guesclin  before  the  Dragon  could  have  appeared  on 
the  scene,  breathing  fire  and  rattling  his  scales.  They 
were  going  to  Scotland  to  be  married  (Honore's  idea),  as 
a  man  can't  legally  marry  a  girl  under  age  in  France  with- 
out the  consent  of  everybody  concerned.  Once  she  'd  got 
away  with  him,  and  had  had  any  kind  of  hole-in-the- 
corner  wedding,  Honore  was  of  opinion  that  even  the  most 
abandoned  Dragon  would  be  thankful  to  sanction  a  mar- 
riage according  to  French  law;  so  it  could  all  be  done  over 
again  properly  in  France. 

I  suppose  this  appealed  immensely  to  Ellaline's  love  of 


10  SET    IN  SILVER 

intrigue  and  kittenish  tricksiness  generally.  Anyway, 
she  agreed ;  but  young  officers  propose,  and  their  superiors 
dispose.  Honore  was  ordered  off  for  a  month's 
manoeuvres  before  he  could  even  ask  for  leave ;  and  as  he  's 
known  to  be  destitute  of  near  relatives,  he  could  n't  rake 
up  a  perishing  grandmother  as  an  excuse. 

What  he  did  try,  I  don't  know;  but  anyhow,  he  failed, 
and  the  running  away  had  to  be  put  off.  That  was  blow 
number  one,  and  could  have  been  borne,  without  blow 
number  two,  which  fell  in  the  shape  of  a  letter.  It  said 
that  the  wicked  guardian  was  just  about  to  start  for  home, 
and  intended  to  pick  up  Ellaline  on  his  way  to  England, 
as  if  she  were  a  parcel  labelled  "  to  be  kept  till  called  for." 

She  's  certain  he  won't  let  her  marry  Honore  if  he  has 
the  chance  to  say  "no"  beforehand,  because  he  cares 
nothing  about  her  happiness,  or  about  her,  or  anything  else 
except  his  own  selfish  ambitions.  Of  course,  Ellaline  is 
a  girl  who  takes  strong  prejudices  against  people  for  no 
particular  reason,  except  that  she  has  a  "  feeling  they  are 
horrid";  but  she  does  appear  to  be  right  about  this  man. 
He  's  English,  and  though  Ellaline's  mother  was  half 
French,  they  were  cousins,  and  I  believe  her  dying  request 
was  that  he  should  take  care  of  her  daughter  and  her 
daughter's  money.  You  would  have  thought  that  that 
must  have  softened  even  a  hard  heart,  would  n't  you  ? 
But  the  Dragon's  was  evidently  sentiment-proof,  even  so 
many  years  ago,  when  he  must  have  been  comparatively 
young  —  if  Dragons  are  ever  young. 

He  accepted  the  charge  (Ellaline  thinks  her  money 
probably  influenced  him  to  do  that;  and  perhaps  he  was 
paid  for  his  trouble) ;  but,  instead  of  carrying  out  his 


SET  IN  SILVER  11 

engagements,  like  a  faithful  guardian,  he  packed  the  poor 
four-year-old  baby  off  to  some  pokey,  prim  people  in  the 
country,  and  promptly  went  abroad  to  enjoy  himself. 
There  EUaline  would  no  doubt  have  been  left  to  this  day, 
dreadfully  unhappy  and  out  of  her  element,  for  the  people 
were  an  English  curate  and  his  wife;  but,  luckily,  her 
mother  had  stipulated  that  she  was  to  be  sent  to  the  same 
school  in  France  where  she  herself  had  been  educated  — 
Madame  de  Maluet's. 

Never  once  has  her  guardian  shown  the  slightest  sign  of 
interest  in  Ellaline:  hasn't  asked  for  her  photograph  or 
written  her  any  letters.  They  've  communicated  with  each 
other  only  through  Madame  de  Maluet,  four  times  a  year 
or  so;  and  Ellaline  does  n't  feel  sure  that  her  fortune 
has  been  properly  administered,  so  she  says  she  ought  to 
marry  young  and  have  a  husband  to  look  after  her 
interests. 

When  I  ventured  to  hope  that  the  Dragon  was  n't  quite 
so  scaly  and  taily  as  she  painted  him,  she  proved  her 
point  by  telling  me  that  he  'd  been  censured  lately  in  the 
English  Radical  papers  for  killing  a  lot  of  poor,  defence- 
less Bengalese  in  cold  blood.  Somebody  must  have  sent 
her  the  cuttings,  for  Ellaline  hardly  knows  that  news- 
papers exist.  I  dare  say  it  was  Kathy  Bennett,  one  of 
Madame's  few  English  pupils.  Ellaline  has  chummed 
up  with  her  lately.  And  that  news  does  seem  to 
settle  the  man's  character,  does  n't  it  ?  He  must  be  a 
perfect  brute. 

Ellaline  says  that  she  'd  rather  die  than  lose  Honore, 
also  that  he  '11  kill  himself  if  he  loses  her.  And  now, 
dearest  — now  for  the  Thunderbolt!  She  vows  that  the 


12  SET  IN  SILVER 

only  thing  which  can  possibly  save  her  is  for  me  to  take 
her  place  for  five  or  six  weeks,  until  her  soldier's  manoeuvres 
are  over  and  he  can  get  leave  to  whisk  her  off  to  Scotland 
for  the  wedding. 

You  're  the  quickest- witted  darling  in  the  world,  and 
you  generally  know  all  that  people  mean  even  before  they 
speak.  Yet  I  can  see  you  looking  puzzled  as  well  as 
startled,  and  muttering  to  yourself:  "Take  Ellaline's 
place  ?  Where  —  how  —  when  ?  " 

I  was  like  that  myself  while  she  was  trying  to  explain. 
I  stared  with  an  owlish  stare  for  about  five  minutes,  until 
her  real  idea  in  all  its  native  wildness,  not  to  say  enormity, 
burst  upon  me. 

She  wants  to  go  day  after  to-morrow  to  Madame  de 
Blanchemain's,  as  she  'd  expected  to  do  before  she  heard 
that  the  Dragon  was  coming  to  gobble  her  up.  She  wants 
to  stay  there  quietly  until  Honore  can  take  her,  and  she 
wants  me  to  pretend  to  be  Ellaline  Lethbridge! 

I  nearly  fell  off  my  chair  at  this  point,  but  I  hope  you 
won't  do  anything  like  that  —  which  is  the  reason  why  I  've 
been  working  up  to  the  revelation  with  such  fiendish 
subtlety.  Have  you  noticed  it  ? 

Ellaline  has  plotted  the  whole  scheme  out.  I  should  n't 
have  thought  her  capable  of  it;  but  she  says  it's 
desperation. 

She  's  certain  she  can  persuade  Madame  de  Maluet  to 
let  her  leave  school,  to  go  to  the  station  and  meet  the 
Dragon  (that 's  the  course  he  himself  suggests :  too  much 
trouble  even  to  run  out  to  Versailles  and  fetch  her)  with 
only  me  as  chaperon.  I  dare  say  she 's  right  about 
Madame,  for  all  the  teachers  will  be  gone  day  after  to- 


SET  IN  SILVER  13 

morrow,  and  Madame  herself  invariably  collapses  the 
moment  school  breaks  up :  she  seems  to  break  up  with  it, 
and  to  have  to  lie  in  bed  for  at  least  half  a  week  to  be 
mended. 

Madame  has  really  quite  a  flattering  opinion  of  my 
discretion.  She  's  told  me  so  several  times.  I  suppose 
it 's  the  way  I  do  my  hair  for  school,  which  does  give  me  a 
look  of  incorruptible  virtue,  does  n't  it  ?  Fortunately 
she  does  n't  know  I  always  change  it  (if  not  too  tired)  ten 
minutes  after  I  get  home  to  you. 

Well,  then,  taking  Madame's  permission  for  granted, 
Ellaline  points  out  that  all  stumbling-blocks  are  removed, 
for  she  won't  count  moral  ones,  or  let  me  count  them. 

I  'm  to  see  her  off  for  St.  Cloud,  and  wait  to  receive  the 
Dragon.  "Sir,  behold  the  burnt-offering  —  I  mean, 
behold  your  ward!" 

And  I  'm  to  go  on  being  a  burnt-offering  till  it 's  con- 
venient for  the  real  Ellaline  to  scrape  my  ashes  off  the 
smoking  altar. 

It 's  all  very  well  to  make  fun  of  the  thing  like  that. 
But  to  be  serious  —  and  goodness  knows  it 's  serious 
enough  —  what 's  to  be  done,  little  mother  ?  Ellaline 
has  (because  I  insisted)  given  me  till  to-morrow  morning 
to  answer.  I  explained  that  my  consent  must  depend 
on  your  consent.  So  that 's  why  I  have  n't  had  anything 
to  eat  since  breakfast.  I  rushed  home  to  write  this 
immense  letter  to  you,  and  get  it  off  to  catch  the  post.  It 
will  arrive  in  the  morning  with  your  coffee  and  petits  pains 
—  how  I  wish  I  were  in  its  place!  You  can  take  half  an 
hour  to  make  up  your  mind  (I  'm  sure  with  your  lightning 
wits  you  would  n't  ask  longer  to  decide  the  fate  of  the 


14  SET  IN  SILVER 

Great  Powers  of  Europe)  and  then  telegraph  me  simply 
"Yes,"  or  "No."  I  will  understand. 

For  my  own  sake,  naturally,  I  should  prefer  "No." 
That  goes  unsaid,  does  n't  it  ?  I  should  then  be  relieved 
of  responsibility;  for  even  Ellaline,  knowing  that  you  and 
I  are  all  in  all  to  each  other,  could  hardly  expect  me  to  fly 
in  your  face,  just  to  please  her.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
if  you  did  think  I  could  do  this  dreadful  thing  without 
thereby  becoming  myself  a  Dreadful  Thing,  it  would  be 
a  glorious  relief  to  pay  my  debt  of  gratitude  to  Ellaline, 
yes,  and  even  over-pay  it,  perhaps.  One  likes  to  over- 
pay a  debt  that 's  been  owing  a  long  time,  for  it 's  like 
adding  an  accumulation  of  interest  that  one's  creditor 
never  expected  to  get. 

When,  gasping  after  the  first  shock,  I  pleaded  that 
I  'd  do  anything  else,  make  any  other  sacrifice  for  Ellaline's 
sake,  except  this  one,  she  flashed  out  (with  the  odd  shrewd- 
ness which  lurks  in  her  childishness  like  a  bright  little 
garter-snake  darting  its  head  from  a  bed  of  violets),  saying 
that  was  always  the  way  with  people.  They  were  invari- 
ably ready  to  do  for  their  best  friends,  to  whom  they  were 
grateful,  anything  on  earth  except  the  only  thing  wanted. 

Well,  I  had  no  answer  to  make;  for  it 's  true,  is  n't  it? 
And  then  Ellaline  sobbed  dreadfully,  clutching  at  me 
with  little,  hot,  trembling  hands,  crying  that  she  'd 
counted  on  me,  that  she  'd  been  sure,  after  all  my  promises, 
I  would  n't  fail  her.  She  'd  felt  so  safe  with  me!  Are  you 
surprised  I  had  n't  the  heart  to  refuse  ?  I  confess,  dear, 
that  if  I  were  quite  alone  in  the  world  (though  the  world 
would  n't  be  a  world  without  you)  I  should  certainly  have 
grovelled  and  consented  then  and  there. 


SET  IN  SILVER  15 

She  says  she  won't  close  her  eyes  to-night,  and  I  dare 
say  she  won't,  in  which  case  she  '11  be  as  pathetic  as  a 
broken  flower  to-morrow.  I  don't  think  I  shall  sleep 
much  either,  wondering  what  your  verdict  will  be. 

I  really  have  n't  the  remotest  idea  whether  it  will  be 
Yes  or  No.  Usually  I  imagine  that  I  can  pretty  well 
guess  what  your  opinion  is  likely  to  be,  but  I  can't  this 
time.  The  thing  to  decide  upon  is  in  itself  so  fantastic, 
so  monstrous,  that  one  moment  I  tell  myself  you  won't  even 
consider  it.  The  next  minute  I  remember  what  a  dear 
little  "crank"  you  are  on  the  subject  of  gratitude  —  your 
"favourite  virtue,",as  you  used  to  write  in  old-fashioned 
"Confession  Albums"  of  provincial  American  friends 
when  I  was  a  child. 

If  people  do  anything  nice  for  you,  you  run  your  little 
high-heeled  shoes  into  holes  to  do  something  even  nicer  for 
them.  If  you  're  invited  out  to  tea,  you  ask  your  hostess 
to  lunch  or  dinner,  in  return:  that  sort  of  thing  invariably; 
and  you  've  brought  me  up  with  the  same  bee  in  my 
bonnet.  So  what  will  your  telegram  be  ? 

Whatever  you  say,  you  may  count  on  a  meek  "Amen,  so 
be  it,"  from 

Your  most  admiring  subject, 

AUDRIE. 

P.  S.  —  Of  course,  it  is  n't  as  if  this  man  were  an 
ordinary,  nice,  inoffensive  human  man,  is  it  ?  I  do  think 
that  almost  any  treatment  is  too  good  for  such  a  cold- 
blooded, supercilious  old  Dragon.  And  you  need  n't 
reprove  me  for  "calling  names."  With  singular  justice 
Providence  has  ticketed  him  as  appropriately  as  his  worst 


16  SETINSILVER 

enemy  would  have  dared  to  do.  They  have  such  weird 
names  in  Cornwall,  don't  they  ?  —  and  it  seems  he  's  a 
Comishman.  Until  lately  he  was  plain  Mister,  now  he  's 
Sir  Lionel  Pendragon.  Somebody  has  been  weak  enough 
to  die  and  leave  him  a  title,  and  also  an  estate  (though  not 
in  Cornwall)  which  he  's  returning  to  England  in  greedy 
haste  to  pounce  upon.  So  characteristic,  after  living  away 
all  these  years;  though  Madame  de  Maluet  has  tried  to 
make  Ellaline  believe  he  's  coming  back  to  settle  down 
because  of  a  letter  she  wrote,  reminding  him  respectfully 
that  after  nineteen  it 's  almost  indecent  for  a  girl  to  be  kept 
at  school.  » 

Don't  fear,  however,  if  your  telegram  casts  me  to  the 
Dragon,  that  I  shall  be  in  danger  of  getting  eaten  up. 
His  Dragonship,  among  other  stodgy  defects,  has  that 
of  eminent,  well-nigh  repulsive,  respectability.  He  is  as 
respectable  as  a  ramrod  or  a  poker,  and  very  elderly, 
Ellaline  says.  From  the  way  she  talks  about  him  he 
must  be  getting  on  for  a  hundred,  and  he  is  provided  with 
a  widowed  sister,  a  Mrs.  Norton,  whom  he  has  dug  up 
from  some  place  in  the  country  to  act  as  chaperon  for  his 
ward.  All  other  women  he  is  supposed  to  detest,  and 
would,  if  necessary,  beat  them  off  with  a  stick. 


n 

AUDRIE   BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Rue  Chapeau  de  Marie  Antoinette 
Versailles,  July  5th 

MY  SPARTAN  ANGEL:  Now  the  telegram  's  come,  I  feel 
as  if  I  'd  known  all  along  what  your  decision  would  be. 

I  'm  glad  you  were  extravagant  enough  to  add 
"  Writing,"  for  to-morrow  morning  I  shall  know  by  exactly 
what  mental  processes  you  decided.  Also,  I  'm  glad  (I 
think  I  'm  glad)  that  the  word  is  "Yes." 

It 's  afternoon  now ;  just  twenty-four  hours  since  I  sat 
here  in  the  same  place  (at  your  desk  in  the  front  window, 
of  course),  trying  my  best  to  put  the  situation  before  you, 
as  a  plain,  unvarnished  tale. 

I'  stuck  the  bit  of  blue  paper  under  Ellaline's  nose,  and 
she  almost  had  a  fit  with  joy.  If  she  were  bigger  and  more 
muscular,  she  'd  have  kissed  and  squeezed  the  breath  of 
life  out  of  me,  which  would  have  been  awkward  for  her, 
as  she  'd  then  have  been  thrown  back  upon  her  own 
resources. 

Oh,  ma  petite  poupee  de  Mere,  only  think  of  it!  I  go 
to-morrow  —  into  space.  I  disappear.  I  cease  to  exist 
pro  tern.  There  will  be  no  me,  no  Audrie,  but,  instead, 
two  Ellalines.  I  've  often  told  her,  by  the  way,  that  I 
would  make  two  of  her.  Evidently  I  once  had  a  prophetic 
17 


18  SET  IN  SILVER 

soul.  I  only  wish  I  had  it  still,  so  I  might  see  beforehand 
what  will  happen  to  the  Me-ness  of  Ellaline  in  the  next 
few  weeks.  Anyhow,  whatever  comes,  I  expect  to 
be  supported  by  the  consciousness  that  I  'm  paying 
a  debt  of  gratitude  as  perhaps  such  a  debt  was  never 
paid  before. 

Of  course  I  shall  have  a  perfectly  horrid  time.  Not 
only  shall  I  be  wincing  under  the  degrading  knowledge 
that  I  'm  a  base  pretender,  but  I  shall  be  wretchedly 
homesick  and  bored  within  an  inch  of  my  life.  I  shall  be, 
in  the  sort  of  environment  Ellaline  describes,  like  a  mouse 
in  a  vacuum  —  a  poor,  frisky,  happy,  out-of-doors  field- 
mouse,  caught  for  an  experiment.  When  the  experiment 
is  finished  I  shall  crawl  away,  a  decrepit  wreck.  But,  thank 
heaven,  I  can  crawl  to  You,  and  you  will  nurse  me  back 
to  life.  We  '11  talk  everything  over,  for  hours  on 
end,  and  I  '11  be  able  to  abuse  the  Dragon  to  my 
heart's  content.  I  know  you  '11  let  me  do  that,  provided 
I  don't  use  naughty  words,  or,  if  any,  disguise  them 
daintily  in  a  whisper. 

Ellaline  and  I  have  discussed  plans  and  possibilities, 
and  if  all  goes  as  she  expects  (I  don't  see  why  it  should  n't), 
I  ought  to  be  freed  from  the  unpleasant  rdle  of  understudy 
in  five  or  six  weeks.  The  instant  my  chains  are  broken 
by  a  telegram  from  the  bride  saying,  "Safely  married," 
or  words  to  that  effect,  I  shall  do  "all  my  possible"  to 
fold  my  tent  like  an  Arab  and  silently  steal  —  not  to  say 
sneak  —  away  from  the  lair  of  the  Dragon,  without  his 
opening  a  scaly  red  eye  to  the  dreadful  reality,  until  I  'm 
beyond  his  power. 

It  must    be  either  that  or  the  most  awful  scene  with 


SET  IN  SILVER  19 

him  —  a  Regular  Row.  He,  saying  what  he  thinks  of  my 
deception;  me,  defending  myself  and  the,,  real  Ellaline 
by  saying  what  I  think  of  his  general  beastliness.  If 
it  came  to  that,  I  might  in  my  rage  wax  unladylike; 
so  perhaps,  of  the  two  evils,  the  lesser  would  be  the 
sneak  act  —  n'est  ce  pas?  Well,  I  shall  see  when  the 
time  comes. 

In  five  or  six  weeks  I  had  thought,  in  any  case,  of  allow- 
ing you  to  leave  Champel-les-Bains,  should  you  grow  too 
restive  lacking  my  society.  I  thought  of  proposing  by 
then,  if  you  were  sufficiently  braced  by  Swiss  air,  milk,  and 
honey  and  Champel  douches,  that  we  should  join  forces 
at  a  cheap  but  alluring  farmhouse  somewhere. 

That  idea  may  still  fit  in  rather  well,  may  n't  it  ?  But 
if,  for  any  unforeseen  reason,  I  should  have  to  stay  sizzling 
on  the  sacrificial  altar  longer  than  we  expect,  you  must  n't 
come  home  to  hot  Paris  to  economize  and  mope  in  the  flat. 
You  must  stop  in  Switzerland  till  I  can  meet  you  in  some 
nice  place  in  the  country.  Promise  that  you  won't  add 
to  my  burdens  by  being  refractory. 

I  '11  wire  you  an  address  as  soon  as  I  am  blessed  —  or 
cursed  —  with  one.  And  whatever  you  do,  don't 
forget  that  I  'm  merged  in  Ellaline  Lethbridge.  If  her 
identity  fits  me  as  badly  as  her  dresses  would  do 
it  will  come  about  down  to  my  knees  and  won't  meet 
round  the  waist. 

As  soon  as  I  have  your  letter  to-morrow  morning, 
dearest,  I  '11  write  again,  if  only  a  few  lines.  Then,  when 
I  've  seen  the  Dragon  and  have  gained  a  vague  idea  how 
and  where  he  means  to  dispose  of  his  prey,  I  '11  scribble 
off  some  sort  of  description  of  the  man  and  the  meeting, 


20  SET  IN  SILVER 

even  if  it 's  on  board  the  Channel  boat,  in  the  midst  of  a 
tossing. 

Your 

IPHEGENIA. 

(Or  would  Jephtha's  daughter  be  more 
appropriate  ?  I  'm  not  quite  sure  how 
to  spell  either.) 


in 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Rue  Chapeau  de  Marie  Antoinette 
July  6th.  Early  Morning 

DEAREST  DAME  WISDOM  :  You  ought  to  be  Adviser-in- 
Chief  to  Crowned  Heads.  You  'd  be  invaluable;  worth 
any  salary.  What  a  shame  you  are  n't  widely  known :  a 
sort  of  public  possession!  But  for  my  sake  I  'm  glad 
you  are  n't,  because  if  you  were  discovered  you  'd  never 
have  a  spare  minute  to  advise  me. 

Of  course,  dear,  if  you  had  n't  reached  your  conclusions 
just  as  you  did  about  this  step  you  would  n't  have  coun- 
selled, or  even  allowed,  me  to  take  it.  And  I  will  remember 
every  word  you  say.  I  '11  do  exactly  as  you  tell  me  to  do. 
So  now,  don't  worry,  any  more  than  you  would  if  I  were 
an  experienced  and  accomplished  young  parachutist  about 
to  make  a  descent  from  the  top  of  the  Eiffel  tower. 

It 's  eight  o'clock,  and  I  've  satisfied  my  soul  with  your 
letter  and  my  body  with  its  morning  roll  and  coffee. 
When  I  've  finished  scribbling  this  in  pencil  to  you,  I  shall 
pack,  and  be  ready  —  for  anything. 

By  the  way,  that  reminds  me.  What  a  tangled  web  we 
weave  when  first  we  practise  to  deceive,  etc. 

Won't  the  Dragon  think  it  queer  that  his  rich  ward 
should  make  no  better  toilettes  than  I  shall  be  able  to 
21 


22  SET  IN  SILVER 

produce  —  after  living  at  Versailles,  practically  in  Paris, 
with  a  huge  amount  of  spending  money  —  for  a 
schoolgirl  ? 

I  thought  of  that  difficulty  only  last  night  for  the  first 
time,  after  I  was  in  bed,  and  was  tempted  to  jump  up  and 
review  my  wardrobe.  But  it  was  unnecessary.  Not  only 
could  I  call  to  mind  in  the  most  lively  way  every  dress  I 
have,  but,  I  do  believe,  every  dress  I  ever  did  have  since 
my  frocks  were  let  down  or  done  over  from  yours.  I  sup- 
pose that  ought  to  make  me  feel  rather  young,  ought  n't  it  ? 
To  remember  every  dress  I  ever  owned  ?  But  it  does  n't. 
I  '11  be  twenty-one  this  month,  you  know  —  a  year  older 
than  you  were  when  your  ears  were  gladdened  by  my 
first  howl.  I  'm  sure  it  was  unearthly,  yet  that  you 
said  at  once  to  Dad:  "The  dear  child  is  going  to  be 
musical!" 

But  to  return  to  the  wardrobe  of  the  heiress's  understudy. 
It  consists  of  my  every-day  tailor-made,  two  white  linen 
coats  and  skirts,  a  darned  collection  (I  don't  mean  that 
profanely)  of  summer  blouses,  and  the  everlasting,  the 
immortal,  black  evening  dress.  Is  it  three  or  four  years 
old  ?  I  know  it  was  my  first  black,  and  I  did  feel  so  proud 
and  grown-up  when  you  said  I  might  have  it. 

You  '11  be  asking  yourself:  "Where  is  the  blue  alpaca 
she  bought  in  the  Bon  Marche  sale,  which  was  in  the  act 
of  being  made  when  I  left  for  la  Suisse  ?  "  Up  to  now 
I  've  concealed  from  you  the  tragical  fact  that  that 
horrid  little  Mademoiselle  Voisin  completely  spoiled 
it.  I  was  so  furious  I  could  have  killed  her  if  she  'd 
been  on  the  spot.  There  is  no  rage  like  the  dress 
rage,  is  there? 


SETINSILVER  23 

My  one  hope  is  that  the  Dragon  may  take  as  little 
interest  in  Ellaline's  clothes  as  he  has  taken  in  Ellaline's 
self,  or  that,  being  used  to  the  costumes  of  the  Bengalese, 
which,  perhaps,  are  somewhat  sketchy,  he  may  be  thankful 
that  his  ward  has  any  at  all. 

You  see,  I  can't  tell  Ellaline  about  this,  because  she 
could  n't  help  thinking  it  a  hint  for  her  to  supply  the  defi- 
ciency, and  I  would  n't  let  her  do  that,  even  for  her  own 
credit.  Anyhow,  there  'd  be  no  time  to  get  things,  so  I 
must  just  do  the  best  I  can,  and  carry  off  the  old  gray  serge 
and  sailor  hat  with  a  stately  air.  Heaven  gave  me  five 
foot  seven  and  a  half  on  purpose  to  do  it  with. 

Now  I  must  pack  like  heat-lightning;  and  when  I  've 
finished  I  shall  send  the  brown  box  and  the  black  Glad- 
stone to  the  Gare  de  Lyon,  where  he  will  arrive  from 
Marseilles.  That  is  rather  complicated,  as  of  course  we 
must  go  to  the  Gare  du  Nord  for  Calais  or  Boulogne; 
but  he  may  n't  wish  to  start  at  once  for  England,  and  in 
my  new  character,  as  his  ward,  I  must  be  prepared  to  obey 
his  orders.  I  hope  he  won't  treat  me  as  he  seems  to  have 
treated  the  Bengalese!  The  luggage  of  Miss  Ellaline 
Lethbridge  obviously  can't  be  called  for  at  the  flat  of  Mrs. 
Brendon  and  her  daughter  Audrie,  for  there  would  be 
questions  —  and  no  proper  answers.  Therefore,  when  I 
present  myself  at  the  Gare  de  Lyon,  I  intend  to  be  "  self- 
contained."  All  my  worldly  goods  will  be  there,  to  be 
disposed  of  as  the  Grand  Mogul  pleases. 

When  I  've  packed  I  shall  hie  me  to  Madame  de 
Maluet's,  looking  as  good  and  meek  as  a  trained 
dove,  to  take  charge  of  Ellaline  —  and  to  change  into 
Ellaline. 


24  SET  IN  SILVER 

After  that  —  the  Deluge. 
Good-bye,  darling! 
Me,  to  the  Lions! 

But  I  shall  have  your  talisman-letter  in  my  pocket, 
can't  be  eaten,  though  I  do  feel  rather  like 

Your 

MARTYR  CHILD. 


IV 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

On  Board  the  Boat,  half-Channel  over 
July  6th.     Night 

MOTHER  DEAR:  The  dragon-ness  does  n't  show  at  all 
on  the  outside. 

I  expected  to  meet  a  creature  of  almost  heraldic  grimness 
—  rampant,  disregardant,  gules.  What  I  did  meet  — 
but  I  'm  afraid  that  is  n't  the  right  way  to  begin.  Please 
consider  that  I  have  n't  begun.  I  '11  go  back  to  the  time 
when  Ellaline  and  her  chaperon  (me)  started  away  from 
school  together  in  a  discreet  and  very  hot  cab  with  her 
trunks. 

She  was  jumpy  and  on  edge  with  excitement,  and  got  on 
my  nerves  so  that  it  was  the  greatest  relief  when  I  'd  seen 
her  off  in  her  train  for  St.  Cloud.  Just  at  this  point  I  find 
another  break  in  my  narrative,  made  by  d  silly,  not  at  all 
interesting,  adventure. 

I  'd  been  waving  my  hand  for  the  twenty-fifth  time  to 
Ellaline,  in  response  to  the  same  number  of  waves  from 
her.  When  at  last  she  drew  in  her  head,  as  the  train  steamed 
away,  I  turned  round  in  a  hurry  lest  she  should  pop  it  out 
again,  and  bumped  into  a  man,  or  what  will  be  a  man  in  a 
few  years  if  it  lives.  I  said,  "Pardon,  monsieur,"  as 
gravely  as  if  it  were  a  man  already,  and  it  said  in  French 
25 


26  SET  IN  SILVER 

made  in  England  that  't  was  entirely  its  fault.  It  was 
such  a  young  youth,  and  looked  so  utterly  English,  that 
I  smiled  a  motherly  smile,  and  breathed,  "Not  at  all/' 
as  I  passed  on,  fondly  thinking  to  pass  forever  out  of  its 
life  at  the  same  time.  But,  dearest,  the  absurd  little  thing 
did  n't  recognize  the  smile  as  motherly.  Perhaps  it  never 
had  a  mother.  I  had  hardly  observed  it  as  an  individual, 
I  assure  you,  except  as  one's  sub-conscious  self  takes  notes 
without  permission  from  headquarters.  I  was  vaguely 
aware  that  the  creature  with  whom  I  had  collided  was 
quite  nice-looking,  though  bullet -headed,  freckled,  light- 
blue-eyed,  crop-haired,  and  possessing  the  shadow  of  a 
coming  event  in  the  shape  (I  can't  call  it  more)  of  a  mous- 
tache. I  had  also  an  impression  of  a  Panama  hat,  which 
came  off  in  compliment  to  me,  a  gray  flannel  suit,  the 
latest  kind  of  collar  (you  know  "Sissy  Williams  says, 
'  the  feeling  is  for  low  ones  this  year' ! ")  and  mustard- 
coloured  boots.  All  that  sounds  hideous,  I  know,  yet 
it  was  n't.  At  first  sight  it  was  rather  attractive,  but  it 
lost  its  attractiveness  in  a  flash  when  it  mistook  the  nature 
of  my  smile. 

You  would  n't  believe  that  a  nice,  clean  little  British 
face  could  change  so  much  for  the  worse  in  about  the 
eighth  part  of  a  second !  It  could  n't  have  taken  longer,  or 
I  should  n't  have  seen,  because  it  happened  between  my 
smile  and  my  walking  on.  But  I  did  see.  A  disagree- 
able kind  of  lighting  up  in  the  eyes,  which  instantly  made 
them  look  full  of  —  consciousness  of  sex,  is  the  only  way 
I  can  express  it.  And  instead  of  being  inoffensive,  boyish, 
blue  beads,  they  were  suddenly  transformed  into  the  sharp, 
whitey-gray  sort  that  the  Neapolitans  "make  horns"  at. 


SET  IN  SILVER  27 

Well,  all  that  was  nothing  to  fuss  about,  for  even  / 
know  that  misguided  youths  from  Surbiton  or  Pawtucket, 
who  are  quite  harmless  at  home,  think  they  owe  it  to 
themselves  to  be  gay  dogs  when  they  run  over  to 
Paris,  otherwise  they  '11  not  get  their  money's  worth.  If 
it  had  n't  been  for  what  came  afterward  I  would  n't 
be  wasting  paper  and  ink  on  a  silly  young  bounder.  As 
it  is,  I  '11  just  tell  you  what  happened  and  see  if  you  think 
I  was  to  blame,  or  whether  there  's  likely  to  be  any  bother. 

At  that  change  my  look  slid  off  the  self-conceited  face, 
like  rain  off  a  particularly  slippery  duck's  back.  He 
ought  to  have  known  then,  if  he  had  n't  before,  that  I  con- 
sidered him  a  mere  It,  but  I  can  just  imagine  his  saying  to 
himself:  "This  is  Paris,  and  I  've  paid  five  pounds  for  a 
return  ticket.  Must  have  something  to  tell  the  chaps. 
What 's  a  girl  doing  out  alone  ?" 

He  came  after  me  and  said  I  'd  dropped  something. 
So  I  had.  It  was  a  rose.  I  was  going  to  disclaim  it,  with 
all  the  haughty  grace  of  a  broomstick,  when  suddenly  I 
remembered  that  it  was  my  carte  d'identitt,  so  to  speak. 
The  Dragon  had  prescribed  it  in  his  last  letter  to  Madame 
de  Maluet  about  meeting  Ellaline.  As  there  might  be 
difficulty  in  recognition  if  she  came  to  the  station  with  a 
chaperon  as  strange  to  him  as  herself,  it  would  be  well, 
he  suggested,  that  each  pinned  a  red  rose  on  her  dress. 
Then  he  would  look  out  for  two  ladies  with  two  roses. 

I  could  n't  make  myself  into  two  ladies  with  two  roses, 
but  I  must  be  one  lady  with  one  rose,  otherwise  the  Dragon 
and  I  might  miss  each  other,  and  he  would  go  out  to  Ver- 
sailles to  see  what  the  dickens  was  the  matter.  Then  the 
fat  would  be  in  the  fire,  with  a  vengeance ! 


28  SET  IN  SILVER 

You  see,  I  had  to  say  "  Yes  "  to  the  rose,  because  there 
was  n't  time  to  call  at  a  florist's  and  try  to  buy  another 
red  label  before  going  on  to  the  Gare  de  Lyon.  I  put  out 
my  hand  with  a  "  thank  you  "  that  sounded  as  if  it  needed 
oiling,  but,  as  if  on  second  thought  the  silly  idiot  asked  if 
he  might  keep  the  flower  for  himself.  "It  looks  like  an 
English  rose,"  said  he,  with  a  glance  which  transferred 
the  compliment  to  me. 

"  Certainly  not  —  sir,"  said  I.     "  I  need  it  myself." 

"  If  that 's  all,  you  might  let  me  give  you  a  whole  bunch 
to  make  up  for  it,"  said  he. 

Then  I  said,  "  Go  away,"  which  may  n't  have  been 
elegant,  but  was  to  the  point.  And  I  walked  on  with  long 
steps  toward  the  place  where  there  were  cabs.  But  quite 
a  short  man  is  as  tall  as  a  tall  girl,  and  his  steps  were  as 
long  as  mine. 

"I  say,"  said  he,  "you  need  n't  be  so  cross.  What 's 
the  harm,  as  long  as  we  're  both  English,  and  this  is  Paris  ?" 

"  I  'm  not  English,"  I  snapped.  "  If  you  don't  go  away 
I  '11  call  a  gendarme." 

"You  will  look  a  fool  if  you  do.  A  great  tall  girl  like 
you,"  said  he,  trying  to  be  funny.  And  it  did  sound 
funny.  I  suppose  I  must  have  been  pretty  nervous,  after 
all  I  'd  gone  through  with  Ellaline,  for  I  almost  giggled, 
but  I  did  n't,  quite.  On  the  contrary,  I  marched  on  like 
a  war-cloud  about  to  burst,  and  proved  my  non-British 
origin  by  addressing  a  cabman  in  the  Parisian  French  I  've 
inherited  from  you.  I  hoped  that  the  boy  could  n't 
understand,  but  he  did. 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  have  to  go  to  the  Gare  de  Lyon,  too," 
he  announced,  "and  it  would  be  a  very  friendly  act,  and 


SET  IN  SILVER  29 

show  that  you  forgive  me,  if  you  'd  let  me  take  you  there  in 
a  taxi-motor,  which  you  '11  find  much  nicer  than  that  old 
Noah's  ark  you  're  engaging." 

"I  don't  forgive  you,"  I  said,  as  I  mounted  into  the 
alleged  ark.  "  Your  only  excuse  is  that  you  're  not  grown 
up  yet." 

With  that  Parthian  shot  I  ordered  my  cocker,  who  was 
furtively  grinning  by  this  time,  to  drive  on  as  quickly  as 
possible. 

Of  course  the  horrid  child  from  Surbiton  or  somewhere 
did  n't  have  to  go  to  the  Gare  de  Lyon;  but  evidently  he 
regarded  me  as  his  last  hope  of  an  adventure  before  return- 
ing to  his  native  heath  or  duckpond;  so,  naturally,  he 
followed  in  a  taxi-motor,  whose  turbulent,  goodness- 
knows-what-horse-power  had  to  be  subdued  to  one- 
half-horse  gait.  I  did  n't  look  behind,  but  I  felt  in  my 
bones  —  my  funny  bones  —  that  he  was  there.  And 
when  I  arrived  at  the  Gare  de  Lyon  so  did  he. 

The  train  I  'd  come  to  meet  was  a  P.  and  O.  Special, 
or  whatever  you  call  it,  and  it  was  n't  in  yet,  so  I  had  to 
wait. 

"  Cats  may  look  at  kings,"  said  my  gay  cavalier. 

"Cads  mayn't  though,"  said  I.  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
have  maintained  a  dignified  silence,  but  that  mot  was 
irresistible. 

"You  are  hard  on  a  chap,"  said  he.  "I  tell  you  what. 
I  've  been  thinking  a  lot  about  you,  mademoiselle,  and  I 
believe  you  're  up  to  some  little  game  of  your  own.  When 
the  cat 's  away  the  mice  will  play.  You  've  got  rid  of 
your  friend,  and  you  're  out  for  a  lark  on  your  own. 
What?" 


30  SET  IN  SILVER 

Oh,  would  n't  I  have  loved  to  box  his  ears !  But  this 
time  I  was  dignified  and  turned  my  back  on  him.  Luckily, 
the  train  came  puffing  into  the  station,  and  he  ceased  to 
bother  me  actively,  for  the  time;  but  the  worst  is  to 
follow. 

Now  I  think  I  've  got  to  the  part  of  my  story  where  the 
Dragon  ought  to  appear. 

Suddenly,  as  the  train  stopped,  that  platform  of  a  Paris 
railway  station  was  turned  into  a  thoroughly  English  scene. 
A  wave  from  Great  Britain  swept  over  it,  a  tall  and  tweedy 
wave,  bearing  with  it  golf  clubs  and  kitbags  and  every 
kind  of  English  flotsam  and  jetsam.  All  the  passengers 
had  lately  landed  from  the  foreignest  of  foreign  parts, 
coral  strands,  and  that  sort  of  remote  thing,  but  they 
looked  as  incorruptibly,  triumphantly  British,  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  of  them  (except  a  fringe  of  black  or 
brown  servants),  as  if  they  had  strolled  over  from  across 
Channel  for  a  Saturday  to  Monday  in  "gay  Paree."  One 
can't  help  admiring  as  well  as  wondering  at  that  sort  of 
ineradicable,  persistent  Britishness,  can  one?  I  believe 
it 's  partly  the  secret  of  Great  Britain's  success  in  colon- 
izing. Her  people  are  so  calmly  sure  of  their  superiority 
over  all  other  races  that  the  other  races  end  by  believing 
it,  and  trying  to  imitate  their  ways,  instead  of  fighting  to 
maintain  the  right  to  their  own. 

That  feeling  came  over  me  as  I,  a  mere  French  and 
American  chit,  stood  aside  to  let  the  wave  flow  on.  Every- 
one looked  so  important,  and  unaware  of  the  existence  of 
foreigners,  except  porters,  that  I  was  afraid  my  particular 
drop  of  the  wave  might  sail  by  on  the  crest,  without  noticing 
me  or  my  red  rose.  I  tried  to  make  myself  little,  and  the 


SETINSILVER  31 

rose  big,  as  if  it  were  in  the  foreground  and  I  in  the 
perspective,  but  the  procession  moved  on  and  nobody 
who  could  possibly  have  been  the  Dragon  wasted  a 
glance  on  me. 

Toward  the  tail  end,  however,  I  spied  two  men  coming, 
followed  by  a  small  bronze  figure  in  "native"  dress  of 
some  sort.  One  of  the  two  was  tall  and  tanned,  and 
thirty-five  or  so.  The  other  —  I  had  a  bet  with  myself 
that  he  was  my  Dragon.  But  it  was  like  "betting  on  a 
certainty,"  which  is  one  of  the  few  things  that  's  dull  and 
dishonest  at  the  same  time.  Some  men  are  born  dragons, 
while  others  only  achieve  dragonhood,  or  have  it  thrust 
upon  them  by  the  gout.  This  one  was  born  a  dragon, 
and  exactly  what  I  'd  imagined  him,  or  even  worse,  and  I 
was  glad  that  I  could  conscientiously  hate  him  in  peace. 

The  other  man  had  the  walk  so  many  Englishmen  have, 
as  if  he  were  tracking  lions  across  a  desert.  I  quite  admire 
that  gait,  for  it  looks  brave  and  un-self-conscious;  but  the 
old  thing  labelled  "Dragon"  marched  along  as  if  tramp- 
ling on  prostrate  Bengalese.  A  red-hot  Tory,  of  course  — 
that  went  without  saying  —  of  the  type  that  thinks  Radicals 
deserve  hanging.  In  his  eyes  that  stony  glare  which 
English  people  have  when  they  're  afraid  someone  may 
be  wanting  to  know  them;  chicken-claws  under  his  chin, 
like  you  see  in  the  necks  of  elderly  bull  dogs;  a  snobbish 
nose;  a  bad-tempered  mouth;  age  anywhere  between 
sixty  and  a  hundred.  Altogether  one  of  those  men  who 
must  write  to  the  Times  or  go  mad.  Dost  like  the 
picture  ? 

Both  these  men,  who  were  walking  together,  looked 
at  me  rather  hard;  and  I  attributed  the  Dragon's  failure  to 


32  SETINSILVER 

stop  at  the  Sign  of  the  Rose  to  the  silly  vanity  which  for  • 
bade  his  wearing  "specs"  like  a  sensible  old  gentleman. 
Accordingly,  with  laudable  presence  of  mind,  I  did  what 
seemed  the  only  thing  to  do. 

I  stepped  forward,  and  addressed  him  with  the  modest 
firmness  Madame  de  Maluet's  pupils  are  taught  in 
"deportment  lessons."  "I  beg  your  pardon,  but  aren't 
you  Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  ?" 

"I  am  Lionel  Pendragon,"  said  the  other  man  —  the 
quite  young  man. 

Mother,  you  could  have  knocked  me  down  with  the 
shadow  of  a  moth-eaten  feather! 

They  both  took  off  their  travelling  caps.  The  real 
Dragon's  was  in  decent  taste.  The  Mock  Dragon's 
displayed  an  offensive  chess-board  check. 

"Have  you  come  to  say  —  that  Miss  Lethbridge  has  been 
prevented  from  meeting  me  ?"  asked  the  real  one  —  the 
R.  D.,  I  '11  call  him  for  the  moment. 

"I  am "  It  stuck  in  my  throat  and  would  n't  go  up 

or  down,  so  I  compromised  —  which  was  weak  of  me,  as  I 
always  think  on  principle  you  'd  better  lie  all  in  all  or 
not  at  all.  "I  suppose  you  don't  recognize  me  ?"  I  mum- 
bled fluffily. 

"What  — it 's  not  possible  that  you  're  Ellaline  Leth- 
bridge!" the  R.  D.  exclaimed,  in  surprise,  which  might 
mean  horror  of  my  person  or  a  compliment. 

I  gasped  like  a  fish  out  of  water,  and  wriggled  my  neck 
in  a  silly  way,  which  a  charitable  man,  unaccustomed  to 
women,  might  take  for  schoolgirl  gawkishness  in  a  spasm 
of  acquiescence. 

Instantly  he  put  out  his  hand  and  wrung  mine  extremely 


SETINSILVER  33 

hard.  It  would  have  crunched  the  real  Ellaline's  rings 
into  her  poor  little  fingers. 

"You  must  forgive  me,"  he  said.  "I  saw  the  rose  " — 
and  he  smiled  a  wonderfully  agreeable,  undragonlike 
smile,  which  put  him  back  to  thirty-two  —  "but  I  was 
looking  out  for  a  very  different  sort  of  —  er  —  young  lady." 

"Why?"  I  asked,  losing  my  presence  of  mind. 

"I  —  well,  really,  I  don't  know  why,"  said  he. 

"And  I  was  looking  for  a  very  different  sort  of  man," 
I  retorted,  feeling  idiotically  schoolgirlish,  and  sillier 
every  minute. 

He  smiled  again  then,  even  more  nicely  than  before,  and 
followed  the  example  I  had  set.  "Why?"  he  inquired. 

Unlike  him,  I  did  know  why  only  too  well.  But  it  was 
difficult  to  explain.  Still,  I  had  to  say  something  or 
make  things  worse.  "When  in  doubt  play  a  trump,  or 
tell  the  truth,"  I  quoted  to  myself  as  a  precept;  and  said 
out  aloud  that,  somehow  or  other,  I  'd  thought  he  would 
be  old. 

"So  I  am  old,"  he  said,  "old  enough  to  be  your  father." 
When  he  added  that  information,  he  looked  as  if  he  would 
have  liked  to  take  it  back  again,  and  his  face  coloured  up 
with  a  dull,  painful  red,  as  if  he  'd  said  something  attached 
to  a  disagreeable  memory.  That  was  what  his  expression 
suggested  to  me;  but  as  I  know  for  a  fact  that  he  has  not 
at  all  a  nice,  kind  character,  I  suppose  in  reality  what  he 
felt  was  only  a  stupid  prick  of  vanity  at  having  inadver- 
tently given  his  age  away.  I  nearly  blurted  out  the  truth 
about  mine,  which  would  have  got  me  into  hot  water  at 
once,  as  Ellaline  's  hardly  nineteen  and  I  'm  practically 
twenty-one  —  worse  luck  for  you. 


34  SETINSILVER 

By  this  time  the  Mock  Dragon  had  walked  slowly  on, 
but  the  brown  image  in  "  native "  dress  had  glued  himself 
to  the  platform  near  by,  too  respectful  to  be  aware  of  my 
existence.  While  I  was  debating  whether  or  no  the  last 
speech  called  for  an  answer,  the  R.  D.  had  a  sudden 
thought  which  gave  him  an  excuse  to  change  the  subject. 

"Where  's  your  chaperon  ?"  he  snapped,  with  a  flash  of 
the  eye,  which  was  his  first  betrayal  of  the  hidden  devil 
within  him. 

"She  was  called  away  to  visit  a  relative,"  I  answered, 
promptly;  because  Ellaline  and  I  had  agreed  I  was  to  say 
that;  and  in  a  way  it  was  true. 

"You  did  n't  come  here  alone?"  said  he. 

"I  had  to,"  said  I. 

"Then  it 's  a  monstrous  thing  that  Madame  de  Maluet 
should  have  let  you,"  he  growled.  "I  shall  write  and  tell 
her  so." 

"Oh,  don't,  please  don't,"  I  begged,  you  can  guess 
how  anxiously.  "  She  really  could  rCi  help  it,  and  I  shall 
be  so  sorry  to  distress  her."  He  was  still  glaring,  and 
desperation  made  me  crafty.  "You  would  n't  refuse  the 
first  thing  I  've  asked  you  ?"  I  tried  to  wheedle  him. 

I  hoped  —  for  Ellaline's  sake,  of  course  —  that  I  should 
get  another  smile;  but  instead,  I  got  a  frown. 

"  Now  I  begin  to  realize  that  you  are  —  your  mother's 
daughter,"  said  he,  in  a  queer,  hard  tone.  "No,  I  won't 
refuse  the  first  thing  you  ask  me.  But  perhaps  you  'd 
better  not  consider  that  a  precedent." 

"I  won't,"  said  I.  He  'd  been  looking  so  pleased  with 
me  before,  as  if  he  'd  found  me  in  a  prize  package,  or  won 
me  in  a  lottery  when  he  'd  expected  to  draw  a  blank;  but 


SET  IN  SILVER  35 

though  he  gave  in  without  a  struggle  to  my  wheedling, 
he  now  looked  as  if  he  'd  discovered  that  I  was  stuffed  with 
sawdust.  My  quick,  "I  won't,"  did  n't  seem  to  encourage 
him  a  bit. 

"Well,"  he  said,  in  a  duller  tone,  "we  '11  get  out  of  this. 
It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  come  and  meet  me.  I  see  now 
I  ought  n't  to  have  asked  it;  but  to  tell  the  truth,  the 
thought  of  going  to  a  girls'  school,  and  claiming  you " 

"I  quite  understand,"  I  nipped  in.  "This  is  much 
better.  My  luggage  is  all  here,"  I  added.  "I  could  n't 
think  where  else  to  send  it,  as  I  did  n't  know  what  your 
plans  might  be." 

At  that  he  looked  annoyed  again,  but  luckily,  only  with 
himself  this  time.  "I  fear  I  am  an  ass  where  women's 
affairs  are  concerned,"  he  said.  "Of  course  I  ought  to 
have  thought  about  your  luggage,  and  settled  every  detail 
for  you  with  Madame  de  Maluet,  instead  of  trusting  to  her 
discretion.  Still,  it  does  seem  as  if  she " 

I  would  n't  let  him  blame  Madame;  but  I  couldn't 
defend  her  without  risking  danger  for  Ellaline  and  myself, 
because  Madame's  arrangements  were  all  perfect,  if  we 
hadn't  secretly  upset  them.  "I  have  so  little  luggage," 
I  broke  in,  trying  to  make  up  with  emphasis  for  irrelevancy. 
"And  Madame  considers  me  quite  a  grown-up  person,  I 
assure  you." 

"I  suppose  you  are,"  he  admitted,  observing  my  inches 
with  a  worried  air.  "I  ought  to  have  realized;  but  some- 
how or  other  I  expected  to  find  a  child." 

"I  shall  be  less  bother  to  you  than  if  I  were  a  child,'* 
I  consoled  him. 

This  did  make  him  smile  again,  for  some  reason,  as  he 


36  SET  IN  SILVER 

replied  that  he  was  n't  sure.  And  we  were  starting 
to  hook  ourselves  on  to  the  tail  end  of  the  dwindling  pro- 
cession, quite  on  friendly  terms,  when  to  my  horror  that 
young  English  cadlet  —  or  boundling,  which  you  will  — 
strolled  calmly  out  in  front  of  us,  and  said,  "How  do  you 
do,  Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  ?  I  'm  afraid  you  don't  remem- 
ber me.  Dick  Burden.  Anyhow,  you  '11  recollect  my 
mother  and  aunt." 

I  had  forgotten  all  about  the  creature,  dearest;  but  there 
he  had  been  lurking,  ready  to  pounce.  And  what  bad 
luck  that  he  should  know  Ellaline's  guardian,  was  n't  it  ? 

At  first  I  thought  maybe  he  really  had  had  business  at 
the  Gare  de  Lyon,  and  that  I  'd  partly  misjudged  him. 
And  then  it  flashed  into  my  head  that,  on  the  contrary,  he 
did  n't  really  know  Sir  Lionel,  but  had  overheard  the  name, 
and  was  doing  a  "  bluff  "  to  get  introduced  to  me.  Was  n't 
that  a  conceited  idea?  But  neither  was  true.  At  least 
the  latter  was  n't,  I  know,  and  I  'm  pretty  sure  the  first 
wasn't.  What  I  think,  is  this:  that  he  simply  followed 
me  to  the  Gare  de  Lyon  for  the  "deviltry"  of  the  thing, 
and  because  he  'd  nothing  better  to  do.  That  he  hung 
about  in  sheer  curiosity,  to  see  whom  I  was  meeting;  and 
that  he  recognized  the  Dragon  as  an  old  acquaintance. 
I  once  fondly  supposed  coincidences  were  remarkable 
and  rare  events,  but  I  've  known  ever  since  I  've  known 
the  troubles  of  life  that  it 's  only  agreeable  ones  which  are 
rare,  such  as  coming  across  your  long-lost  millionaire- 
uncle  who  's  decided  to  leave  you  all  his  money,  just  as 
you  'd  made  up  your  mind  to  commit  suicide  or  marry 
a  Jewish  diamond  merchant.  Disagreeable  coincidences 
sit  about  on  damp  clouds  ready  to  fall  on  you  the  minute 


SET  IN  SILVER  37 

they  think  you  don't  expect  them,  and  they  're  more 
likely  to  occur  than  not.  That 's  my  experience.  Evi- 
dently the  Dragon  did  remember  Dick's  mother  and  aunt, 
for  the  first  blankness  of  his  expression  brightened  into 
intelligence  with  the  mention  of  the  youth's  female  belong- 
ings. He  held  out  his  hand  cordially,  and  remarked  that 
of  course  he  remembered  Mrs.  Burden  and  Mrs.  Senter. 
As  for  Dick,  he  had  grown  out  of  all  recollection. 

"It  was  a  good  many  years  ago,"  returned  the  said 
Dick,  hastening  to  disprove  the  slur  of  youthfulness. 
"  It  was  just  before  I  went  to  Sandhurst.  But  you  have  n't 
changed.  I  knew  you  at  once." 

"On  leave,  I  suppose?"  suggested  Sir  Lionel. 

"No,"  said  Dick,  "I  'm  not  in  the  army.  Failed,. 
Truth  is,  I  did  n't  want  to  get  in.  Was  n't  cut  out  for  it. 
There  's  only  one  profession  I  care  for." 

"What 's  that  ?"  the  Dragon  was  obliged  to  ask,  out  of 
politeness,  though  I  don't  think  he  cared  much. 

"The  fact  is,"  returned  Mr.  Burden  (a  most  appro- 
priate name,  according  to  my  point  of  view),  "it 's  rather 
a  queer  one,  or  might  seem  so  to  you,  and  I  've  promised 
the  mater  I  won't  talk  of  it  unless  I  do  adopt  it.  And  I  'm 
over  here  qualifying,  now." 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  he  hoped  he  'd  excited  our  curi- 
osity; and  he  must  have  been  disappointed  in  Sir  Lionel's 
half-hearted  "Indeed?"  As  for  me,  I  tried  to  make  my 
eyes  look  like  boiled  gooseberries,  an  unenthusiastic  fruit, 
especially  when  cooked.  I  was  delighted  with  the  Dragon, 
though,  for  not  introducing  him. 

Having  said  "indeed,"  Sir  Lionel  added  that  we  must 
be  getting  on  —  luggage  to  see  to;  his  valet  a  foreigner, 


38  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  more  bother  than  use.  I  took  my  cue,  and  pattered 
along  by  my  guardian's  side,  his  tall  form  a  narrow  yet 
impassable  bulwark  between  me  and  Mr.  Dick  Burden. 
But  Mr.  D.  B.  pattered  too,  refusing  to  be  thrown  off. 

He  asked  Sir  Lionel  if  he  were  staying  on  in  Paris;  and 
in  the  short  conversation  that  followed  I  picked  up  morsels 
of  news  which  had  n't  been  given  me  yet.  It  appeared 
that  the  Dragon's  sister  (who  would  suspect  a  dragon  of 
sisters?)  had  wired  to  Marseilles  that  she  would  meet 
him  in  Paris,  and  he  "expected  to  find  her  at  an  hotel." 
He  did  n't  say  what  hotel,  so  it  was  evident  Mr.  Dick 
Burden  need  not  hope  for  an  invitation  to  call.  Appar- 
ently our  plans  depended  somewhat  on  her,  but  Sir  Lionel 
"thought  we  should  get  away  next  day  at  latest."  There 
was  nothing  to  keep  him  in  Paris,  and  he  was  in  a  hurry 
to  reach  England.  I  was  glad  to  hear  that,  for  fear 
some  more  coincidences  might  happen,  such  as  meeting 
Madame  de  Maluet  or  one  of  the  teachers  holiday-making. 
Conscience  does  make  you  a  coward!  I  never  noticed 
mine  much  before.  I  wish  you  could  take  anti- 
conscience  powders,  as  you  do  for  neuralgia.  Would  n't 
they  sell  like  hot  cakes  ? 

At  last  Mr.  Dick  Burden  had  to  go  away  without  get- 
ting the  introduction  he  wanted,  and  Sir  Lionel  was  either 
very  absent-minded  or  else  very  obstinate  not  to  give  it, 
I  'm  not  sure  which;  but  if  I  were  a  betting  character  I 
should  bet  on  the  latter.  I  begin  to  see  that  his  dragon- 
ness  may  be  expected  to  leak  out  in  his  attitude  toward 
Woman  as  a  Sex.  Already  I  've  detected  the  most  prim- 
itive, almost  primaeval,  ideas  in  him,  which  probably  he 
contracted  in  Bengal.  Would  you  believe  it,  he  insisted 


SETINSILVER  39 

on  my  putting  on  a  veil  to  travel  with  ?  —  but  I  have  n't 
come  to  that  part  yet. 

As  for  Mr.  Burden,  as  I  said,  he  disappeared  from  our 
view;  but  I  doubt  if  we  disappeared  from  his.  You  may 
think  this  is  conceited  in  me,  but,  as  he  took  off  his  Panama 
in  saying  good-bye,  he  contrived  to  peer  at  me  round  an 
unfortified  corner  of  the  Dragon,  and  the  look  he  flung  me 
said  more  plainly  than  words:  "This  is  all  right,  but  I  'm 
hanged  if  I  don't  see  it  through, "  or  something  even  more 
emphatic  to  that  effect. 

Sir  Lionel  was  surprised  when  he  saw  my  luggage, 
which  we  picked  up  when  he  'd  claimed  his  own. 

"I  thought  young  ladies  never  went  anywhere  without 
a  dozen  boxes,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  mamma  and  I  travelled  half  over  Europe  with 
only  one  trunk  and  two  bags  between  us,"  I  blurted  out. 
before  I  stopped  to  think.  Then  I  wished  the  floor  would 
yawn  and  swallow  me  up. 

He  did  stare!  —  and  his  eyes  are  dreadfully  piercing 
when  he  stares.  They  are  very  nice-looking  gray  ones; 
but  I  can  tell  you  they  felt  like  hatpins. 

"I  should  have  thought  you  were  too  young  in  those 
days  to  know  anything  about  luggage,"  said  he. 

That  gave  me  a  straw  to  clutch.  "Madame  de  Maluet 
has  told  me  a  great  deal."  (So  she  has,  about  one  thing 
or  another;  mostly  my  own  faults.) 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  said.  It  must  have  seemed  funny  to 
him,  my  saying  that  about  the  trunks,  as  Ellaline's  mother 
died  when  E.  was  four. 

He  had  n't  much  luggage,  either;  no  golf  clubs,  or  battle- 
axes,  or  whatever  you  play  about  with  in  Bengal  when 


40  SETINSILVER 

you  are  n't  terrorizing  the  natives.  He  sent  the  brown 
servant  off  in  one  cab  with  our  things,  and  put  me  in 
another,  into  which  he  also  mounted.  It  did  seem  funny 
driving  off  with  him,  for  when  I  came  to  think  of  it,  I  was 
never  alone  with  a  man  before;  but  he  was  gawkier  about 
it  than  I  was.  Not  exactly  shy;  I  hardly  know  how  to 
express  it,  but  he  could  n't  help  showing  that  he  was  out  of 
his  element. 

Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  he  'd  shaken  hands  with  the 
Mock  Dragon,  and  shunted  him  off  just  as  ruthlessly  as 
he  did  the  boy.  "See  you  in  London,  sooner  or  later," 
said  he.  As  if  anyone  could  want  to  see  such  a  disagree- 
able old  thing!  Yet,  perhaps,  if  I  but  knew,  the  Mock 
Dragon's  character  may  be  the  nobler  of  the  two.  If  I 
were  to  judge  by  appearances,  I  should  have  liked  the 
real  Dragon's  looks,  and  thought  from  first  sight  that  he 
was  rather  a  brave,  fine,  high-principled  person,  even 
unselfish.  Whereas  I  know  from  all  Ellaline  has  told  me 
that  his  qualities  are  quite  the  reverse  of  these. 

We  were  going  to  the  Grand  Hotel,  and  driving  there 
he  pumped  up  a  few  perfunctory  sort  of  questions  about 
school,  the  way  grown-up  people  who  don't  understand 
children  talk  to  little  girls.  You  know:  "Do  you  like 
your  lessons  ?  What  do  you  do  on  holidays  ?  What  is 
your  middle  name  ?"  sort  of  thing.  I  was  afraid  I  should 
laugh,  so  I  asked  him  questions  instead;  and  all  the  time  he 
seemed  to  be  studying  me  in  a  puzzled,  surprised  way,  as 
if  I  were  a  duck  that  had  just  stepped  out  of  a  chicken  egg, 
or  a  goblin  in  a  Nonconformist  home.  (If  he  keeps  on 
doing  this,  I  shall  have  to  find  out  what  he  means  by  it, 
or  burst.) 


SET  IN  SILVER  41 

I  asked  him  about  his  sister,  as  I  thought  Bengal  might 
be  a  sore  subject,  and  he  appeared  to  think  that  I  already 
knew  something  of  her.  If  Ellaline  does  know,  she  forgot 
to  tell  me;  and  I  hope  other  things  like  that  won't  be 
continually  cropping  up,  or  my  nerves  won't  stand  it. 
I  shall  take  to  throwing  spoons  and  tea-cups. 

He  reminded  me  of  her  name  being  Mrs.  Norton,  and 
that  she 's  a  widow.  He  had  n't  expected  her  to  come  over, 
he  said,  and  he  was  surprised  to  get  her  telegram,  but  no 
doubt  he  'd  find  out  that  she  'd  a  pretty  good  reason. 
And  it  was  nothing  to  be  astonished  at,  her  not  meeting 
him  at  the  Gare  de  Lyon,  for  she  invariably  missed  people 
when  she  went  to  railway  stations.  It  had  been  a  char- 
acteristic of  hers  since  youth.  When  they  were  both 
young  they  were  often  in  Paris  together,  for  they  had 
French  cousins  (Ellaline's  mother's  people,  I  suppose), 
and  then  they  stopped  at  the  Grand  Hotel.  He  had  n't 
been  there,  though,  he  added,  for  nearly  twenty  years; 
and  had  been  out  of  England,  without  coming  back,  for 
fifteen.  That  made  him  seem  old,  talking  of  what  hap- 
pened twenty  years  ago  —  almost  my  whole  life.  Yet 
he  does  n't  look  more  than  thirty-five  at  most.  I  wonder 
does  the  climate  of  Bengal  preserve  people,  like  flies  in 
amber  ?  Perhaps  he  's  really  sixty,  and  has  this  unnatural 
appearance  of  youth. 

"Does  Mrs.  Norton  know  about — me?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  of  course  she  does,"  said  he.  "I  wrote  her  she 
must  come  and  live  with  me  when  I  found  I  'd  got  to 

have "  He  shut  up  like  a  clam,  on  that,  and 

looked  so  horribly  ashamed  of  himself"  that.  I  burst, 
out  laughing. 


42  SET  IN  SILVER 

"Please  don't  mind,"  said  I.  "I  know  I  'm  an  incubus, 
but  I  '11  try  to  be  as  little  trouble  as  possible." 

"You  're  not  an  incubus,"  he  contradicted  me,  almost 
indignantly.  "You  're  entirely  different  from  what  I 
thought  you  would  be." 

"Oh,  then  you  thought  I  would  be  an  incubus?"  I 
could  n't  resist  the  temptation  of  retorting.  Maybe  it  was 
cruel,  but  there  's  no  society  for  the  prevention  of  cruelty 
to  dragons,  so  it  can't  be  considered  wrong  in  humane 
circles. 

"Not  at  all.  But  I  —  I  don't  know  much  about 
women,  especially  girls,"  said  he.  "And  I  told  you  I 
thought  of  you  as  a  child." 

"I  hope  you  have  n't  gone  to  the  trouble  of  engaging 
a  nurse  for  me?"  I  suggested.  And  if  he  were  cross  at 
being  teased,  he  did  n't  show  it.  He  said  he  'd  trusted  all 
such  arrangements  to  his  sister.  He  had  n't  seen  her  for 
many  years,  but  she  was  good-natured,  and  he  hoped  that 
we  would  get  on.  What  I  principally  hoped  was  that 
she  would  n't  prove  to  be  of  a  suspicious  nature;  for  a 
detective  on  the  hearth  would  be  inconvenient,  and  women 
can  be  so  sharp  about  each  other!  I  've  found  that  out  at 
Madame  de  Maluet's;  I  never  would  from  you,  dear. 
You  were  n't  a  cat  in  any  of  your  previous  incarnations. 
I  think  you  must  have  "evoluted"  from  that  neat  blend- 
ing of  serpent  and  dove  which  eventually  produces  a 
perfect  Parisienne. 

We  went  into  the  big  hall  of  the  Grand  Hotel,  where 
Sir  Lionel  said  in  "his  day"  carriages  used  to  drive  in; 
and  suddenly,  to  my  own  surprise,  I  felt  gay  and  excited, 
as  if  this  were  life,  and  I  had  begun  to  live.  I  did  n't 


SET    IN  SILVER  43 

regret  having  to  play  Ellaline  one  bit.  Everything  seemed 
great  fun.  You  know,  darling,  I  have  n't  had  much  "life," 
except  in  you  and  books,  since  I  was  sixteen,  and  our 
pennies  and  jauntings  finished  up  at  the  same  time; 
though  I  had  plenty  before  that  —  all  sorts  of  "samples," 
anyhow.  I  suppose  it  must  have  been  the  bright, 
worldly  look  of  the  hotel  which  gave  me  that  tingling 
sensation,  as  if  a  little  wild  bird  had  burst  into  song  in 
my  heart. 

Although  it 's  out  of  season  for  Parisians,  the  hall  was  full 
of  fashionable-seeming  people,  mostly  Americans  and 
other  foreigners.  As  we  came  in,  a  lady  rose  from  a  seat 
near  the  door.  She  was  small,  and  the  least  fashionable  or 
well-dressed  person  in  the  room,  yet  with  the  air  of  being 
satisfied  with  herself  morally.  I  saw  at  once  she  was  of  the 
type  who  considers  her  church  a  "home  from  home";  who 
dresses  her  house  as  if  it  were  a  person,  and  upholsters 
herself  as  if  she  were  a  sofa.  Of  course,  I  knew  it  was 
Mrs.  Norton,  and  I  was  disappointed.  I  would  almost 
have  preferred  her  to  be  catty. 

She  and  her  brother  had  n't  seen  each  other  for  fifteen 
years,  but  they  met  as  calmly  as  if  they  had  lunched 
together  yesterday.  I  think,  though,  that  was  more  her 
fault  than  his,  for  when  he  held  out  his  hand  she  lifted  it 
up  on  a  level  with  her  chin  to  shake;  and  of  course  that 
would  have  taken  the  "go"  out  of  a  grasshopper.  I 
suppose  it  would  n't  have  been  "good  form"  to  kiss  in  a 
hotel  hall,  but  if  /  retrieved  a  long-lost  brother  in  any  sort 
of  hall,  I  don't  believe  I  could  resist. 

Her  hair  was  so  plainly  drawn  back,  it  was  like  a  moral 
influence,  and  her  toque  sat  up  high  on  her  head  like  a  bun 


44  SET  IN  SILVER 

or  a  travelling  pincushion.  The  only  trimming  on  her 
dress  was  buttons,  but  there  were  a  large  family  of  them. 

Sir  Lionel  introduced  us,  and  she  said  she  was  pleased 
to  meet  me.  Also,  that  I  was  not  at  all  like  my 
mother  or  father.  Then  she  asked  if  I  had  ever  been  to 
England;  but  luckily,  before  I  'd  had  a  chance  to  com- 
promise myself  by  saying  that  I  'd  lived  a  few  months  in 
London,  but  had  been  nowhere  else  (there  's  where  our 
money  began  to  give  out),  her  brother  reminded  her  that  I 
was  only  four  when  I  left  England. 

"Of  course,  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Mrs.  Norton.  "But 
don't  they  ever  take  them  over  to  see  the  British  Museum 
or  the  National  Gallery  ?  I  should  have  thought  it  would 
be  an  education  —  with  cheap  returns." 

"Probably  French  schoolmistresses  believe  that  their 
pupils  get  their  money's  worth  on  the  French  side  of  the 
Channel,"  replied  Sir  Lionel. 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Norton;  and  looked  at  me  as  if  to  see 
how  the  system  had  answered.  I  'm  sure  she  approved  of 
the  gray  serge  and  the  sailor  hat  more  than  she  approved 
of  the  girl  in  them.  You  see,  I  don't  think  she  sanctions 
hair  that  is  n't  dark  brown. 

We  did  n't  sit  down,  but  talked  standing  up,  Sir  Lionel 
and  his  sister  throwing  me  words  out  of  politeness  now  and 
then.  She  has  a  nice  voice,  though  cold  as  iced  water  that 
has  been  filtered.  Her  name  is  Emily.  It  would  bel 

He  said  he  was  surprised  as  well  as  pleased  to  get  her 
telegram  on  arriving  at  Marseilles,  and  it  was  rery  good 
of  her  to  come  to  Paris  and  meet  him.  She  said  not  at  all, 
it  was  no  trouble,  but  a  pleasure,  or  rather  it  would  be,  if 
it  were  n't  for  the  sad  reason  that  brought  her. 


SET  IN  SILVER  45 

"Why,  is  anybody  dead?"  asked  Sir  Lionel,  looking  as 
if  he  were  running  over  a  list  in  his  head,  but  could  n't 
call  up  a  name  which  concerned  him  personally. 

"There  's  been  a  thinning  off  among  old  friends  lately, 
I  'm  sorry  to  say;  I  've  told  you  about  most  of  them,  I 
think,  in  postscripts,"  replied  Mrs.  Norton.  "But  it 
was  n't  their  loss,  poor  dears,  which  brought  me  over. 
It  was  the  fire." 

"What  fire?"  her  brother  wanted  to  know. 

"Why,  your  fire.  Surely  you  must  have  seen  about  it 
in  to-day's  London  papers  ?" 

"To-day's  London  papers  won't  get  to  Marseilles  till 
to-morrow,  and  I  have  n't  been  long  ertbugh  in  Paris  to  see 
one  yet,"  explained  Sir  Lionel.  "Have  I  had  a  serious 
fire,  and  what  has  been  burnt  ?"  He  spoke  as  coolly  as  if 
it  were  the  question  of  a  mutton  chop. 

"Part  of  the  house,"  returned  Mrs.  Norton,  not  even 
trying  to  break  it  to  him. 

"I  hope  not  the  old  part,"  said  he. 

"No,  it  is  the  new  wing.  But  that  seemed  to  me  such  a 
pity.  Such  a  beautiful  bathroom,  hot  and  cold,  spray  and 
shower,  quite  destroyed;  and  a  noble  linen  closet,  heated 
throughout  with  pipes,  and  fully  stocked." 

"The  bathroom  may  have  been  early  Pullman,  and  the 
linen  closet  late  German  Lloyd,  my  dear  Emily;  but  the 
rest  of  the  house  is  Tudor,  and  can't  be  replaced,"  said 
Sir  Lionel;  and  I  was  sure,  as  he  looked  down  at  his  sister, 
of  a  thing  I  'd  already  suspected:  that  he  has  a  sense  of 
humour.  That 's  a  modern  improvement  with  which 
you  would  n't  expect  a  dragon  to  be  fitted;  but  I  begin  to 
see  that  this  is  an  elaborate  and  complicated  Dragon. 


46  SET  IN  SILVER 

Some  people  are  Pharisees  about  their  sense  of  humour, 
and  keep  harping  on  it  till  you  wish  it  were  a  live  wire  and 
would  electrocute  them.  He  would  rather  be  ashamed 
of  his,  I  fancy,  and  yet  it  must  have  amused  him,  and 
made  him  feel  good  chums  with  himself,  away  out  in 
Bengal. 

Mrs.  Norton  said  that  Warings  had  very  handsome 
Tudor  dining-rooms  in  one  or  two  of  their  model  houses, 
so  nothing  was  irrevocable  nowadays;  but  she  was  pleased, 
if  he  was,  that  only  the  modern  wing  was  injured.  It  had 
happened  yesterday  morning,  just  too  late  for  the  news- 
papers, which  must  have  annoyed  the  editors;  and  she 
had  felt  that  it  would  be  best  to  undertake  the  journey  to 
Paris,  and  consult  about  plans,  as  it  might  make  a  dif- 
ference (here  she  glanced  at  me) ;  but  she  had  n't  mentioned 
the  fire  when  wiring,  because  things  seemed  worse  in 
telegrams,  and  besides,  it  would  have  been  a  useless 
expense.  No  doubt  it  had  been  stupid  of  her,  but  she 
had  fancied  he  would  certainly  see  it  in  the  paper,  with 
all  details,  and  therefore  guess  why  she  was  meeting  him. 

"We  have  nowhere  to  take  Miss  Lethbridge,"  said  she, 
"  since  Graylees  Castle  will  be  overrun  with  workmen  for 
some  time  to  come.  I  did  n't  know  but  you  might  feel  it 
would  be  best,  after  all,  for  us  to  put  her  again  in  charge 
of  her  old  schoolmistress  for  a  few  weeks." 

If  hair  could  really  rise,  mine  would  have  instantly 
cast  out  every  hairpin,  as  if  they  were  so  many  evil  spirits, 
and  have  stood  out  all  around  my  head  like  Strumpel- 
peter's.  Yet  there  was  nothing  I  could  say.  If  I  were 
mistress  of  a  dozen  languages,  I  should  have  had  to  be 
speechless  in  every  one.  But  I  saw  Sir  Lionel  looking  at 


SET  IN  SILVER  47 

me,  and  I  hastily  gave  him  a  silent  treatment  with  my  eyes. 
It  had  the  most  satisfactory  effect. 

"No,  I  don't  think  we  will  take  her  back  to  Madame 
de  Maluet's,"  said  he.  Madame  may  have  made  other 
plans  for  the  holiday  season.  Perhaps  she  is  going 
away." 

"I  'm  sure  she  is,"  said  I.  "She  is  going  to  visit  her 
mother-in-law's  aunt." 

Sir  Lionel  was  still  looking  at  me,  lost  in  thought.  (I 
forget  if  I  mentioned  that  he  has  nice  eyes  ?  I  have  n't 
time  to  look  back  and  see  if  I  did,  now.  I  'm  scribbling 
as  fast  as  I  can.  We  shall  soon  land,  and  I  want  to  post 
this  at  Dover,  if  I  can  get  an  English  stamp  "off"  some- 
one, as  "Sissy"  Williams,  our  only  British  neighbour, 
says.) 

"How  would  you  like  a  motor-car  trip?"  Sir  Lionel 
asked  abruptly. 

The  relief  from  suspense  was  almost  too  great,  and  I 
nearly  jumped  down  his  throat,  so,  after  all,  it  would  have 
been  my  own  fault  if  the  Dragon  had  eaten  me.  "I 
should  adore  it!"  I  said. 

"My  dear!"  protested  Mrs.  Norton,  indulgently.  "One 
adores  Heavenly  Beings." 

"I'm  not  sure  a  motor-car  isn't  a  heavenly  being," 
said  I,  "though  perhaps  without  capitals." 

The  Dragon  smiled,  but  she  looked  awfully  shocked, 
and  no  doubt  blamed  Madame  de  Maluet. 

"I  've  a  forty-horse  Mercedes  promised  to  be  ready  on 
my  arrival,"  said  Sir  Lionel,  still  reflective.  "You  know, 
Emily,  the  little  twelve-horse-power  car  I  had  sent  out  to 
East  Bengal  was  a  Mercedes.  If  I  could  drive  her,  I  can 


48  SET  IN  SILVER 

drive  a  bigger  car.  Everybody  says  it 's  easier.  And 
young  Nick  has  learned  to  be  a  first-rate  mechanic." 

I  suppose  young  Nick  must  be  the  Dragon's  pet  name 
for  the  bronze  image.  What  fun  that  he  should  be  a 
chauffeur!  Fancy  an  Indian  Idol  squatted  on  the  front 
seat  of  an  up-to-date  automobile.  But  when  you  come 
to  think  of  it,  there  have  been  other  gods  in  cars.  I  only 
hope,  if  I  'm  to  be  behind  him,  this  one  won't  behave  like 
Juggernaut.  He  wears  almost  too  many  clothes,  for  he  is 
the  type  that  would  look  over-dressed  in  a  bangle. 

"We  might  have  an  eight  or  ten  weeks'  run  about  Eng- 
land," the  Dragon  went  on,  "while  things  are  being  made 
straight  at  Graylees.  It  would  be  good  to  see  something 
of  the  blessed  old  island  again  before  settling  down." 

"One  would  think  you  were  quite  pleased  at  the  fire, 
Lionel,"  remarked  his  sister,  who  evidently  believes  it 
wrong  to  look  on  the  bright  side  of  things,  and  right  to 
expect  the  worst  —  like  an  undertaker  calling  for  a  client 
before  he  's  dead. 

"  What  is,  is,"  returned  he.  "  We  may  as  well  make  the 
best  of  it.  You  would  n't  mind  a  motor  tour,  would  you, 
Emily?" 

"I  would  go  if  it  were  my  duty,  and  you  desired  it," 
she  said,  looking  as  if  she  ought  to  be  on  stained  glass, 
with  half  a  halo,  "only  I  am  hardly  young  enough  to  con- 
sider motoring  as  a  pleasure." 

"There  aren't  many  years  between  us,"  replied  her 
brother,  too  polite  to  say  whether  he  were  in  front  or 
behind,  "but  I  confess  I  do  regard  it  as  a  pleasure." 

"A  man  is  different,"  she  admitted. 

Thank  goodness,  he  is! 


SET  IN  SILVER  49 

Then  they  talked  more  about  the  fire,  which,  it  seems, 
happened  through  something  being  wrong  with  a  flue, 
in  a  room  where  Mrs.  N.  had  told  a  servant  to  build  a  fire 
on  account  of  dampness.  It  must  be  a  wonderful  old 
place  from  what  they  both  let  drop.  (I  told  you  in 
another  letter  how  Sir  Lionel  had  inherited  it,  about  the 
same  time  as  his  title,  or  a  little  later.  The  estate,  though, 
comes  from  the  mother's  side,  and  her  people  were  from 
Warwickshire.)  His  cool  British  way  of  saying  and 
taking  things  is  a  good  deal  on  the  surface,  I  think.  He 
would  have  hated  us  to  see  it,  but  I  'm  sure  he  worked  him- 
self up  to  quite  a  pitch  of  joyful  excitement  over  the  idea 
of  the  motor  trip,  as  it  developed  in  his  mind.  And  it  is 
splendid,  is  n't  it,  darling  ? 

You  know  how  sorry  you  were  we  had  n't  been  more 
economical,  and  made  our  money  last  long  enough  to 
travel  in  England,  instead  of  having  to  stop  short  after  a 
splash  in  London.  Now  I  'm  going  to  see  bits  in  spite  of 
all,  until  I  'm  "called  away,"  and  I  '11  try  my  best,  in 
letters,  to  make  you  see  what  I  do.  Ellaline  would  n't 
have  enjoyed  such  a  tour,  for  she  hates  the  country,  or 
any  place  where  it  is  n't  suitable  to  wear  high  heels  and 
picture  hats.  But  I  —  oh,  I!  Twenty  dragons  on  the 
same  seat  of  the  car  with  me  could  n't  prevent  my  revelling 
in  it  —  though  it  may  be  cut  short  for  me  at  any  minute. 
As  for  Mrs.  Norton 

But  the  stewardess  has  just  said  we  shall  be  in,  in  five 
minutes.  I  had  to  come  down  to  the  ladies'  cabin  with 
Mrs.  N.  Now  I  have  n't  time  to  tell  you  any  more,  except 
that  they  both  (Sir  L.  and  his  sister,  I  mean)  wanted 
to  get  to  England  as  soon  as  possible.  I  know  she  was 


50  SET  IN  SILVER 

disappointed  not  to  fling  her  brother's  ward  back  to 
Madame  de  Maluet,  and  probably  would  n't  have  come 
over  to  Paris  if  she  had  n't  hoped  to  bring  it  off;  but  she 
resigns  herself  to  things  easily  when  a  man  says  they  're 
best.  It  was  Sir  Lionel  who  wanted  particularly  to  cross 
to-night,  though  he  did  n't  urge  it;  but  she  said,  "Very 
well,  dear.  I  think  you  're  right." 

So  here  we  are.  A  large  bell  is  ringing,  and  so  is  my 
heart.  I  mean  it 's  beating.  Good-bye,  dearest.  I  '11 
write  again  to-morrow  —  or  rather  to-day,  for  it 's  a 
lovely  sunrise,  like  a  good  omen  —  when  we  get  settled 
somewhere.  I  believe  we  're  going  to  a  London  hotel. 
Yes,  stewardess.  Oh,  I  ought  to  have  said  that  to  her, 
instead  of  writing  it  to  you.  She  interrupted. 

Love  —  love. 

Your  AUDRIE, 
Their  ELLALINE. 


AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Ritz  Hotel,  London,  July  8th 

ANGEL:  May  your  wings  never  moult!  I  hope  you 
did  n't  think  me  extravagant  wiring  yesterday,  instead 
of  writing.  I  was  too  busy  baking  the  yeasty  dough  of 
my  impressions  to  write  a  letter  worth  reading;  and  when 
one  has  practically  no  money,  what 's  the  good  of  being 
economical  ?  You  know  the  sole  point  of  sympathy  I 
ever  touched  with  "  Sissy  "  Williams  was  his  famous  speech : 
"  If  I  can't  earn  five  hundred  a  year,  it 's  not  worth  while 
worrying  to  earn  anything";  which  excused  his  settling 
down  as  a  "remittance  man,"  in  the  top  flat,  at  forty 
francs  a  month. 

Dearest,  the  Dragon  has  n't  drag-ged  once,  yet!  And, 
by  the  way,  till  he  does  so,  I  think  I  won't  call  him  Dragon 
again.  It 's  rather  gratuitous,  as  I  'm  eating  his  bread 
—  or  rather,  his  perfectly  gorgeous  a  la  cartes,  and  am 
literally  smeared  with  luxury,  from  my  rising  up  until  my 
lying  down,  at  his  expense. 

I  know,  and  you  know,  because  I  repeated  it  word  for 
word,  that  Ellaline  said  she  thought  he  must  have  been 
well  paid  for  undertaking  to  "guardian"  her,  as  his  hard, 
selfish  type  does  nothing  for  nothing;  and  she  has  always 
seemed  so  very  rich  (quite  the  heiress  of  the  school,  envied 
51 


52  SET  IN  SILVER 

for  her  dresses  and  privileges)  that  there  might  be  temp- 
tations for  an  unscrupulous  man  to  pick  up  a  few  plums 
here  and  there.  But  —  well,  of  course  Ellaline  ought  to 
know,  after  being  his  ward  ever  since  she  was  four,  and 
hearing  things  on  the  best  authority  about  the  horrid  way 
he  treated  her  mother,  as  well  as  suffering  from  his  cruel 
heartlessness  all  these  years.  Never  a  letter  written  to 
herself;  never  the  least  little  present;  never  a  wish  to  hear 
from  her,  or  see  her  photograph;  all  business  carried 
on  between  himself  and  Madame  de  Maluet,  who  is  too 
discreet  to  prejudice  a  ward  against  a  guardian.  And 
I  —  I  saw  him  only  day  before  yesterday  for  the  first  time. 
What  can  I  know  about  him  ?  I  've  no  experience  in 
reading  characters  of  men.  The  dear  old  Abbe  and  a 
few  masters  in  the  school  are  the  only  ones  I  have  a  bow- 
ing acquaintance  with  —  except  "Sissy"  Williams,  who 
does  n't  count.  It 's  dangerous  to  trust  to  one's  instincts, 
no  doubt,  for  it 's  so  difficult  to  be  sure  a  wish  is  n't  dis- 
guising itself  as  instinct,  in  rouge  and  a  golden  wig. 

But  then,  there  's  the  man's  profile,  which  is  of  the 
knight-of-old,  Crusader  pattern,  a  regular  hook  to  hang 
respect  upon,  though  I  'd  be  doing  it  injustice  if  I  let  you 
imagine  it 's  shaped  like  a  hook.  It  is  n't;  it 's  quite  beau- 
tiful; and  you  find  yourself  furtively,  semi-consciously 
sketching  it  in  air  with  your  forefinger  as  you  look  at  it. 
It  suggests  race,  and  noblesse  oblige,  and  a  long  line  of 
soldier  ancestors,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  such  as  you  used 
to  say  survived  visibly  among  the  English  aristocracy  and 
English  peasantry  (not  in  the  mixed-up  middle  classes) 
more  markedly  than  anywhere  else.  That  must  mean 
some  correspondence  in  character,  must  n't  it  ?  Or  can  it 


SET  IN  SILVER  5$ 

be  a  mask,  handed  down  by  noble  ancestry  to  cover  up 
moral  defects  in  a  degenerate  descendant  ? 

Am  I  gabbling  school-girl  gush,  or  am  I  groping  toward 
light?  You  know  what  I  want  to  say,  anyhow.  The 
impression  Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  makes  on  me  would  be 
different  if  he  had  n't  been  described  by  Ellaline.  I 
should  have  supposed  him  quite  easy  to  read,  if  he  'd 
happened  upon  me,  unheralded  —  as  a  big  ship  looms 
over  a  little  bark,  on  the  high  sea.  I  'd  have  thought 
him  a  simple  enough,  straightforward  character  in  that 
case.  I  should  have  put  him  in  the  class  with  his  own 
Tudor  castle  —  not  that  I  've  ever  yet  seen  a  Tudor 
castle,  except  in  photographs  or  on  postcards.  But  I  'd 
have  said  to  myself:  If  he  'd  been  born  a  house  instead  of 
a  man,  he  'd  have  been  built  centuries  and  centuries  ago, 
by  strong  barons  who  knew  exactly  what  they  wanted,, 
and  grabbed  it.  He  'd  have  been  a  castle,  an  early  Tudor 
castle,  battlemented  and  surrounded  by  a  moat,  fortified, 
of  course,  and  impregnable  to  the  enemy,  unless  they 
treacherously  blew  him  up.  He  would  have  had  several 
secret  rooms,  but  they  would  contain  chests  of  treasure, 
not  nasty  skeletons. 

Now  you  understand  exactly  what  I  'd  be  thinking 
of  the  alleged  Dragon,  if  it  were  n't  for  Ellaline.  But  as 
it  is,  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  him.  That 's  why  I 
describe  him  as  elaborate  and  complicated,  because,  I 
suppose,  he  must  be  totally  different  inside  from  what  he 
seems  outside. 

Anyhow,  I  don't  care  —  it 's  lovely  being  at  the  Ritz. 
And  we  're  in  the  newspapers  this  morning,  Emily  and  I 
shining  by  reflected  light;  mine  doubly  reflected,  like  the 


54  SET  IN  SILVER 

earth's  light  shining  on  to  the  moon,  and  from  that  being 
passed  on  to  something  else  —  some  poor  little  chipped 
meteorite  strayed  out  of  the  Milky  Way. 

It  was  Mrs.  Norton  who  discovered  the  article  about 
Sir  Lionel  —  half  a  column  —  in  the  Morning  Post 
and  she  sent  out  for  lots  of  other  papers  without  saying 
anything  to  her  brother,  for  —  according  to  her  —  he 
"hates  that  sort  of  thing." 

I  did  n't  have  time  to  tell  you  in  my  last  that  she  was 
sick  crossing  the  Channel  (though  it  was  as  smooth  as  if 
it  had  been  ironed,  and  only  a  few  wrinkles  left  in),  but 
apparently  she  considers  it  good  form  for  a  female  to  be 
slightly  ill  in  a  ladylike  way  on  boats;  so,  of  course,  she  is. 
And  as  I  was  decent  to  her,  she  decided  to  like  me  better 
than  she  thought  she  would  at  first.  For  some  reason 
they  both  seemed  prejudiced  against  me  (I  mean  against 
Ellaline)  to  begin  with.  I  can't  think  why;  and  slowly, 
with  unconcealable  surprise,  they  are  changing  their  minds. 
Changing  one's  mind  keeps  one's  soul  nice  and  clean  and 
fresh;  so  theirs  will  be  well  aired,  owing  to  me. 

Emily  has  become  quite  resigned  to  my  existence,  and 
doles  me  out  small  confidences.  She  has  not  a  rich  nature, 
to  begin  with,  and  it  has  never  been  fertilized  much,  so  it 's 
rather  sterile;  but  no  noxious  weeds,  anyhow,  as  there 
may  be  in  Sir  Lionel's  more  generous  and  cultivated  soil. 
I  think  I  shall  get  on  with  her  pretty  well  after  all,  espe- 
cially motoring,  when  I  can  take  her  with  plenty  of  ozone. 
She  is  a  little  afraid  of  her  brother,  though  he  's  five  years 
younger  than  she  (I  've  now  learned),  but  extremely 
proud  of  him;  and  it  was  quite  pathetic,  her  cutting  out 
the  stuff  about  him  in  the  papers,  this  morning,  and  show- 


SET  IN  SILVER  55 

ing  every  bit  to  me,  before  pasting  all  in  a  book  she  has 
been  keeping  for  years,  entirely  concerned  with  Sir  Lionel. 
She  says  she  will  show  that  to  me,  too,  some  day,  but  I 
must  n't  tell  him.  As  if  I  would! 

But  about  the  newspapers.  She  did  n't  order  any 
Radical  ones,  because  she  said  they  were  always  down  on 
the  aristocracy,  and  unjust  as  well  as  stupid;  but  she  got 
one  by  mistake,  and  you  've  no  idea  how  delighted  the 
poor  little  woman  was  when  it  praised  her  brother  up  to 
the  skies.  Then  she  said  there  were  some  decent  Radicals, 
after  all. 

Of  course,  one  knows  the  difference  between  "  Mirabeau 
judged  by  his  friends  and  Mirabeau  judged  by  the  people," 
and  can  make  allowances  (if  one's  digestion  's  good)  for 
points  of  view.  But  there  's  one  thing  certain,  whether 
he  's  angel  or  devil,  or  something  hybrid  between  the  two, 
Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  is  a  man  of  importance  in  the  Public 
Eye.  I  wonder  if  Ellaline  realizes  his  importance  in  that 
way  ?  I  can't  think  she  does,  or  she  would  have  mentioned 
it,  as  it  need  n't  have  interfered  with  her  opinion  of  his 
private  character. 

It 's  a  little  through  Emily,  but  mostly  from  the  news- 
paper cuttings,  that  I  've  got  my  knowledge  of  what  he  's 
done,  and  been,  and  is  expected  to  be. 

He  's  forty.  I  know  that,  because  the  Morning  Post 
gave  the  date  of  his  birth,  and  he 's  rather  a  swell, 
although  only  a  baronet,  and  not  even  that  till  a  short 
time  ago.  It  appears  that  the  family  on  both  sides  goes 
back  into  the  mists  of  antiquity,  in  the  days  when  legend, 
handed  down  by  word  of  mouth  (can  you  hand  things  out 
of  your  mouth  ?  Sounds  rude),  was  the  forerunner  of  his- 


50  SET  IN  SILVER 

tory.  His  father's  ancestors  are  supposed  to  be  descended 
from  King  Arthur;  hence  the  "Pendragon";  though, 
I  suppose,  if  it 's  true,  King  Arthur  must  really  have  been 
married  several  times,  as  say  the  vulgar  records  of  which 
Tennyson  very  properly  takes  no  notice.  There  have 
been  dukes  and  earls  in  the  family,  but  they  have  some- 
how disappeared,  perhaps  because  in  those  benighted 
days  there  were  no  American  heiresses  to  keep  them  up. 

It  seems  that  Sir  Lionel  was  a  soldier  to  begin  with, 
and  was  dreadfully  wounded  in  some  frontier  fight  in 
India  when  he  was  very  young.  He  nearly  lost  the  use 
of  his  left  arm,  and  gave  up  the  army;  but  he  got  the 
Victoria  Cross.  Ellaline  did  n't  say  a  word  about  that. 
Maybe  she  does  n't  know.  After  I  'd  read  his  "dossier" 
in  the  paper,  I  could  n't  resist  asking  him  at  lunch  what 
he  had  done  to  deserve  the  V.  C. 

"Nothing  to  deserve  it,"  he  answered,  looking  surprised. 

"To  get  it,  then  ?  "  I  twisted  my  question  round. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  —  almost  forget.  Pulled  some 
silly  ass  out  of  a  hole,  I  believe,"  said  he 

That 's  what  you  get  for  asking  this  sort  of  Englishman 
questions  about  his  past.  I  thought  it  was  only  widows 
with  auburn  hair  you  must  n't  talk  to  about  their  pasts. 

"A  grateful  Government"  (according  to  the  Morning 
Post)  "sent  young  Pendragon,  at  the  age  of  twenty-five, 
to  East  Bengal,  as  private  secretary  to  Sir  John  Hurley, 
who  was  lieutenant-governor  at  that  time";  and  it's 
an  ill  Governor,  so  to  speak,  who  blows  no  one  anj  good. 
Sir  John's  liver  was  so  tired  of  Bengal,  that  he  had  to  take 
it  away,  and  Lieutenant  Pendragon  (as  he  vras  then) 
looked  after  things  till  another  man  could  arrire.  He 


SETINSILVER  57 

looked  after  them  so  brilliantly,  that  when  the  next  lieu- 
tenant-governor did  something  silly,  and  was  asked  to 
resign,  our  incipient  Sir  Lionel  was  invited  to  take  on  the 
job.  He  was  only  thirty,  and  so  he  has  been  lieutenant- 
governor  for  ten  years.  Now  he  's  going  to  see  whether 
he  likes  being  a  baronet  better,  and  having  castles  and 
motor-cars.  All  the  papers  I  saw  praised  him  tremen- 
dously, and  said  that  in  a  crisis  which  might  have  been 
disastrous  he  had  averted  a  catastrophe  by  his  remarkable 
strength  of  character  and  presence  of  mind.  I  suppose 
that  was  the  time  when  the  other  papers  accused  him  of 
abominable  cruelties.  I  wonder  which  was  right?  Per- 
haps I  shall  be  able  to  judge,  sooner  or  later,  if  I  watch  at 
the  loopholes  of  his  character  like  a  cat  watching  for  a 
mouse  to  come  out  for  a  walk. 

As  for  money,  if  one  can  believe  newspapers,  he  has 
plenty  without  shaking  pennies  from  the  slot  of  Ellaline 
Lethbridge's  bank,  and  was  fairly  well  off  even  before  he 
came  in  for  his  title  or  his  castle.  However,  as  a  very 
young  man,  he  may  have  been  poor  —  about  the  time 
he  went  into  guardianship. 

By  the  way,  the  left  arm  seems  all  right  now.  Anyhow, 
he  uses  it  as  arms  are  meant  to  be  used,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
so  evidently  it  improved  with  time. 

The  papers  tell  about  his  coming  back  to  England,  and 
his  Warwickshire  castle,  and  the  fire,  and  Mrs.  Norton 
giving  up  her  house  in  —  some  county  or  other;  I  've 
already  forgotten  which  —  to  live  with  her  "distinguished 
brother."  Also,  they  say  that  he  has  a  ward,  whose 
mother  was  a  relative  of  the  family,  and  whose  father 
was  the  Honourable  Frederic  Lethbridge,  so  well  known 


58  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  popular  in  society  during  the  "late  eighties."  Ellaline 
was  born  in  1891.  What  had  become  of  him,  I  'd  like  to 
know?  Perhaps  he  died  before  she  was  born.  She  has 
told  me  that  she  can't  remember  him,  but  that 's  about  all 
she  has  ever  said  of  her  father. 

We  are  to  stay  at  the  Ritz  until  we  start  off  on  the  motor 
trip,  which  is  actually  going  to  happen,  though  I  was 
afraid  it  was  too  good  to  be  true.  The  new  car  won't  be 
ready  for  a  week,  though.  I  am  sorry,  but  Mrs.  Norton 
is  n't.  She  is  afraid  she  will  be  killed,  and  thinks  it  will 
be  a  messy  sort  of  death  to  die.  Besides,  she  likes  London. 
She  says  her  brother  will  be  "overwhelmed  with  invi- 
tations"; but  he  hates  society,  and  loathes  being  lionized. 
Imagine  the  man  smothered  under  stacks  of  perfumed 
notes,  as  Tarpeia  was  under  the  shields  and  bracelets! 
Emily  has  not  lived  in  London,  because  she  wanted  to  be 
in  a  place  where  she  particularly  valued  the  vicar  and  the 
doctor;  but  she  has  given  them  up  for  her  brother  now, 
and  is  only  going  to  write  her  symptoms,  spiritual  and 
physical.  She  enjoys  church  more  than  anything  else,  but 
thinks  it  will  be  her  duty  to  take  me  about  a  little  while 
we  're  in  town,  as  her  brother  is  sure  not  to,  because 
he  spurns  women,  and  is  not  interested  in  anything 
they  do. 

I  suppose  she  must  know;  and  yet,  at  lunch  yesterday, 
he  asked  if  we  were  too  tired,  or  if  we  should  like  to  "do 
a  few  theatres."  I  said  —  because  I  simply  had  to  spare 
them  a  shock  later  —  that  I  was  afraid  I  had  n't  any- 
thing nice  to  wear.  I  felt  myself  go  red  —  for  it  was  a 
sort  of  disgrace  to  Ellaline  —  but  he  did  n't  seem  as  much 
surprised  as  Mrs.  Norton  did.  Her  eyebrows  went  up; 


SET  IN  SILVER  59 

but  he  only  said  of  course  school-girls  never  had  smart 
frocks,  and  I  must  buy  a  few  dresses  at  once. 

One  evening  gown  would  be  enough  for  a  young  girl, 
Mrs.  Norton  said,  but  he  did  n't  agree  with  her.  He  said 
he  had  n't  thought  about  it,  but  now  that  it  occurred  to 
him,  he  was  of  opinion  that  women  should  have  plenty  of 
nice  things.  Then,  when  she  told  him,  rather  hurriedly, 
that  she  would  choose  me  something  ready  made  at  a  good 
shop  in  Oxford  Street,  he  remarked  that  he  'd  always 
understood  Bond  Street  was  the  place. 

"Not  for  school-girls,"  explained  dear  Emily,  who  is 
a  canny  person. 

"She  isn't  a  school-girl  now.  That 's  finished,"  said 
Sir  Lionel.  And  as  she  thinks  him  a  tin  god  on  wheels, 
she  ceased  to  argue. 

By  the  by,  he  has  the  air  of  hating  to  call  me  by  name. 
He  says  "Miss  Lethbridge,"  in  a  curious,  stiff  kind  of  way, 
when  he  's  absolutely  obliged  to  give  me  a  label;  otherwise 
he  compromises  with  "you,"  to  which  he  confines  himself 
when  possible.  It 's  rather  odd,  and  can't  be  an  accident. 
The  only  reason  I  can  think  of  is  that  he  may  feel  it  is 
really  his  duty  to  call  me  "Ellaline." 

I  promised  to  write  to  Ellaline,  as  soon  as  I  'd 
anything  to  tell  worth  telling;  and  I  suppose  I  must  do  it 
to-day;  yet  I  dread  to,  and  can't  make  up  my  mind  to 
begin.  I  don't  like  to  praise  a  person  whom  she  regards 
as  a  monster;  still,  I  've  nothing  to  say  against  him;  and 
I  'm  sure  she  '11  be  cross  if  I  don't  run  him  down.  I 
think  I  shall  state  facts  baldly.  When  I  get  instalments  of 
allowance  —  intended  for  Ellaline,  of  course  —  I  am  to 
send  the  money  to  her,  except  just  enough  not  to  be 


60  SET  IN  SILVER 

noticeably  penniless.  I  'm  to  address  her  as  Mademoiselle 
Leonie  de  Nesville,  and  send  letters  to  Poste  Restante, 
because,  while  I  'm  known  as  Miss  Lethbridge,  it  might 
seem  queer  if  I  posted  envelopes  directed  to  a  person  of  my 
own  name.  It  was  Ellaline  who  suggested  that,  not  I. 
She  thought  of  everything.  Though  she  's  such  a  child 
in  some  ways,  she  's  marvellous  at  scheming. 

I  really  can't  think  yet  what  I  shall  say  to  her.  It  's 
worrying  me.  I  feel  guilty,  somehow,  I  don't  know  why. 

Mrs.  Norton  suggested  taking  me  out  shopping  and 
sight-seeing  this  afternoon.  Sir  Lionel  proposed  going 
with  us.  His  sister  was  astonished,  and  so  was  I,  espe- 
cially after  what  she  had  said  about  his  not  being  interested 
in  women's  affairs.  "  Just  to  make  sure  that  you  take  my 
tip  about  Bond  Street,"  he  remarked.  "And  Bond  Street 
used  to  amuse  me  —  when  I  was  twenty.  I  think  it  will 
amuse  me  now  —  to  see  how  it  and  I  have  changed." 

So  we  are  going,  all  three.  Rather  awful  about  the 
gray  serge  and  sailor  hat,  is  n't  it  ?  I  felt  self-respecting  in 
them  at  Versailles,  and  even  in  Paris,  because  there  I  was 
a  singing  teacher;  in  other  words,  nobody.  But  in  London 
I  'm  supposed  to  be  an  heiress.  And  here,  at  the  Ritz, 
such  beautiful  beings  come  to  lunch,  in  dresses  which 
they  have  evidently  been  poured  into  with  consummate 
skill  and  incredible  expense. 

I  tasted  Peche  Melba  to-day,  for  the  first  time.  It  made 
me  wish  for  you.  But  it  did  n't  seem  to  go  at  all  with  gray 
serge  and  a  cotton  blouse.  I  ought  to  have  been  a  Gor- 
geous Being,  with  silk  linings. 

How  am  I  to  support  the  shopping  ordeal  ?  Supposing 
Mrs,  Norton  chooses  me  things  (oh  horror!).  They  're 


SETINSILVER  61 

sure  to  be  hideous,  but  they  may  be  costly.  As  it  says  in 
an  English  society  paper  which  Madame  de  Maluet  takes : 
"What  should  A.  do?" 

If  only  Telepathy  were  a  going  concern,  you  would 
answer  that  Hard  Case  for 

Your  poor,  puzzled 

"A.,"  ALIAS  "E." 

P.  S.  Nothing  more  heard  or  seen  of  the  White  Girl's 
Burden,  Richard  of  that  ilk.  I  was  afraid  of  his  turning 
up  at  the  Grand  Hotel  in  Paris,  or  even  at  the  station  to 
"see  us  off,"  but  he  didn't.  He  has  disappeared  into 
space,  and  is  welcome  to  the  whole  of  it.  I  should  nearly 
have  forgotten  him,  if  I  did  n't  wonder  sometimes  what  his 
mysterious  profession  is. 


VI 

SIR  LIONEL  PENDRAGON  TO  COLONEL 
P.  R.  O'HAGAN,  AT  DROITA,  EAST  BENGAL 

Ritz  Hotel,  London,  July  8th 

MY  DEAH  PAT:  You  were  right,  I  was  wrong.  It  is 
good  to  be  in  England  again.  Your  prophecy  has  come 
true.  The  dead  past  has  pretty  well  buried  its  dead. 
A  few  dry  bones  show  under  the  surface  here  and  there. 
I  let  them  lie.  Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he  should  dig 
up  buried  bones! 

As  you  know,  I  was  ass  enough  to  dread  arriving  in 
Paris.  I  dreaded  it  throughout  the  whole  voyage.  When 
I  got  to  Marseilles,  I  found  a  wire  from  Emily,  saying  she 
would  meet  me  in  Paris.  Ass  again!  I  had  an  idea  she 
was  putting  herself  to  that  trouble  with  the  kindly  wish 
to  "stand  by,"  and  take  my  thoughts  off  old  days.  But 
I  might  have  known  better,  knowing  that  good,  practical 
little  soul.  She  had  quite  another  object.  Came  to 
break  the  news  of  a  fire  at  Gray  lees;  but  it  seems  not  to 
have  done  any  serious  damage,  except  to  have  wiped  out 
a  few  modern  frills.  They  can  easily  be  tacked  on  again. 
I  'm  glad  it  was  no  worse,  for  I  love  Gray  lees.  I  might 
have  turned  out  a  less  decent  sort  of  chap  than  I  am  if  it 
had  n't  been  for  the  prospect  of  inheriting  it  sooner  or  later. 
One  has  to  live  up  to  certain  things,  and  Graylees  was  an 
incentive. 


SETINSILVER  63 

You  asked  me  to  tell  you  if  Emily  had  changed.  Well, 
she  has.  It 's  eighteen  years  since  you  saw  her;  fifteen  since 
I  did.  I  must  tell  you  honestly,  you  'd  have  no  sentimen- 
tal regrets  if  you  could  see  her  now.  You  will  remember, 
if  you  're  not  too  gallant,  that  she  was  three  years  older 
than  you;  the  three  seem  to  have  stretched  to  a  dozen. 
Luckily,  you  did  n't  let  Norton's  snatching  Emily  from 
under  your  nose  prey  upon  cheek  or  heart.  Nothing  is 
damaged.  You  are  sound  and  whole,  and  that  is  why 
your  friendship  has  been  such  a  boon  to  me.  You  have 
saved  me  from  tilting  against  many  windmills. 

I  suppose  you  '11  think  I  'm  "preambling"  now,  to  put 
off  the  evil  moment  of  telling  you  about  Ellaline  de 
Nesville's  girl.  But  no.  For  once  you  're  mistaken  in  me. 
After  all,  it  is  n't  an  evil  moment.  I  'm  surprised  at  my- 
self, doubly  surprised  at  the  girl;  and  both  surprises  are 
agreeable  ones. 

I  don't  ask  you  if  you  remember  Ellaline;  for  nobody 
who  ever  saw  her  could  forget  her;  atleast,  so  it  seems  to  me, 
after  all  the  years,  and  all  the  changes  in  myself.  As  I 
am  now,  hers  is  the  last  type  with  which  I  should 
fall  in  love,  provided  I  were  fool  enough  to  lose  my 
head  for  anyone.  Yet  I  can't  wonder  at  the  adoration  I 
gave  her.  She  was  exactly  the  sort  of  girl  to  call  out 
a  boy's  love,  and  she  had  all  mine,  poor  foolish  wretch 
that  I  was.  There  's  nothing  more  pathetic,  I  think,  at 
this  distance,  than  a  boy's  passionate  purity  in  his  first 
love  —  unless  it 's  his  disillusionment;  for  disillusion  does 
no  nature  good.  It  would  have  done  mine  great  harm 
if  I  had  n't  had  a  friend  like  you  to  groan  and  grumble  to. 

You  understand  how  I  've  always  felt  about  this  child 


64  SETINSILVER 

she  wished  me  to  care  for.  I  was  certain  that  Ellaline 
Number  2  would  grow  up  as  like  Ellaline  Number  1  as  this 
summer's  rose  is  like  last  summer's,  which  bloomed  on  the 
same  bush. 

At  four  years  old  the  little  thing  undoubtedly  had  a 
dollish  resemblance  to  her  mother.  I  thought  I  remem- 
bered that  she  had  the  first  Ellaline's  great  dark  eyes, 
full  of  incipient  coquetry,  and  curly  black  lashes,  which 
the  little  flirt  already  knew  how  to  use,  by  instinct.  The 
same  sort  of  mouth,  too,  which  to  look  at  makes  a  boy 
believe  in  a  personal  Cupid,  and  a  man  in  a  personal  devil. 
I  had  a  dim  recollection  of  chestnut-brown  hair,  falling 
around  a  tiny  face  shaped  like  Ellaline's;  "heart-shape" 
we  used  to  call  it,  Emily  and  I,  when  we  were  both  under 
our  little  French  cousin's  thumb,  in  the  oldest  days  of 
all,  before  even  Emily  began  to  find  her  out. 

I  wonder  if  a  child  sheds  its  first  hair,  like  its  first  teeth  ? 
I  've  never  given  much  thought  to  .infantine  phenomena 
of  any  kind ;  still,  I  'm  inclined  to  believe  now  that  there 
must  be  such  cases.  Of  course,  we  know  a  type  of  blonde, 
nee  brunette;  for  instance,  Mrs.  Senter,  young  Burden's 
fascinating  aunt,  whom  we  suspected  of  having  turned 
blond  in  a  single  night  (by  the  way,  whom  should  I  run 
across  in  Paris  but  Dicky,  grown  up  more  or  less  since  he 
chaperoned  his  female  belongings  in  the  Far  East).  But 
I  'm  not  talking  of  the  Mrs.  Senters  of  the  world;  I  'm 
talking  of  Ellaline's  unexpected  daughter.  She  has 
changed  almost  incredibly  between  the  ages  of  four  and 
nineteen. 

Before  I  knew  Emily  intended  meeting  me  in  Paris,  I 
wrote  the  school-ma'am  asking  that  my  ward  might  be  sent, 


SET    IN  SILVER  65 

well  chaperoned,  to  the  Gare  de  Lyon.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  have  to  face  a  modern  young  female,  adorned  with  all 
the  latest  improvements  and  parlour  tricks.  It  would 
have  been  worse  to  face  several  dozens  of  these  creatures 
in  their  lair;  therefore,  I  funked  collecting  my  ward  at 
Versailles.  I  was  to  know  her  by  a  rose  pinned  on  her 
frock  in  case  she  'd  altered  past  recognition.  It  was  well, 
as  things  turned  out,  that  I  'd  made  the  suggestion,  other- 
wise the  girl  would  have  had  to  go  back  to  Versailles,  like 
an  unclaimed  parcel;  and  that  would  have  been  bad,  as 
she  had  no  chaperon.  Something  had  happened  to  the 
lady,  or  to  the  lady's  relatives.  I  almost  forget  what,  now. 
Instead  of  the  dainty  little  Tanagra  figure  in  smart 
French  frills,  which  I  expected,  there  was  a  tall,  beautiful 
young  person,  with  the  bearing  of  an  Atalanta,  and  the 
clothes  of  a  Quakeress.  She  tacked  my  name  on  to  the 
wrong  man,  or  I  should  have  let  her  go,  in  spite  of  the  rose, 
so  different  was  she  from  what  I  expected.  And  you  '11 
be  amused  to  hear  that  her  idea  of  Lionel  Pendragon  was 
embodied  by  old  "Hannibal"  Jones,  who  got  into  my 
train  at  Marseilles.  He  's  taken  to  parting  his  name  in  the 
middle  now,  and  is  General  Wellington- Jones.  She  ought 
to  have  known  my  age  approximately,  or  could  have 
learned  it  if  she  cared  to  bother;  but  I  suppose  to  nine- 
teen, forty  might  as  well  be  sixty.  That 's  a  thing  to 
remember,  if  one  feels  the  sap  pulsing  in  one's  branches, 
just  to  remind  one  that  after  all  it 's  not  spring,  but  autumn. 
And  at  the  present  moment,  by  the  way,  I  'm  not  sure  that 
I  shan't  need  this  kind  of  taking  down  a  peg,  for  I  am  feel- 
ing so  young  that  I  think  I  must  be  growing  old.  I  have 
begun  to  value  what 's  left  me  of  youth;  to  take  it  out 


66  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  look  at  it  in  all  lights,  like  a  fruit  which  must  be  gloated 
over  before  it  decays  —  and  that 's  a  fatal  sign,  eh  ?  I  have 
the  most  extraordinary  interest  in  life,  which  I  attribute 
to  the  new  motor-car  which  will  be  finished  and  ready  to 
use  in  a  few  days;  also  to  the  thought  that  Graylees  is 
my  own. 

But  I  'm  wandering  away  from  the  girl. 

She  is  as  unlike  Ellaline  de  Nesville  as  one  beautifully 
bound  first  volume  of  a  human  document  can  be  from 
another  equally  attractive.  "First  volume  of  a  human 
document "  is  n't  inexpressive  of  a  young  girl,  is  it  ? 
Heaven  knows  what  this  one  may  be  by  the  time  the  second 
and  third  volumes  are  ready  for  publication ;  but  at  present 
one  turns  over  the  leaves  with  pleased  surprise.  There  's 
something  original  and  charming  in  each  new  page. 

Her  first  hair  must  have  been  shed,  for  the  present  lot 
—  and  there  is  a  lot!  —  is  of  a  bright,  yellowy  brown; 
looks  like  a  child's  hair,  somehow.  There  are  little  rings 
and  kinks  about  it  which  I  take  to  have  been  put  there  by 
the  curling-tongs  of  nature,  though  I  may  be  mistaken. 
And  I  suppose  I  must  have  deceived  myself  about  the 
child's  eyes,  for  they  are  not  black,  but  of  a  grayish  hazel, 
which  can  look  brown  or  violet  at  night.  She  is  a  tall 
young  thing,  slim  and  straight  as  a  sapling,  with  frank, 
honest  manners,  which  are  singularly  engaging.  I  look 
at  her  in  amazement  and  interest,  and  find  her  looking  at 
me  with  an  expression  which  I  am  not  able  to  make  out. 
I  hardly  dare  let  myself  go  in  liking  her,  for  fear  of  dis- 
appointment. She  seems  too  good  to  be  true,  too  good 
to  last.  I  keep  wondering  what  ancestress  of  Ellaline  de 
Nesville's,  or  Fred  Lethbridge's,  is  gazing  out  of  those 


SET  IN  SILVER  67 

azure  windows  which  are  this  girl's  eyes.  If  Fred's  soul, 
or  Ellaline's,  peeps  from  behind  the  clear,  bright  panes,  it 
contrives  to  keep  itself  well  hidden  —  so  far.  But  I 
expect  anything. 

I  had  no  notion  until  now  that  a  young  woman  could 
be  a  delightful  "pal"  for  a  man,  especially  a  man  of  my 
age.  Perhaps  this  is  my  ignorance  of  the  sex  (for  I  admit 
I  locked  up  the  book  of  Woman,  and  never  opened  it 
again,  since  the  chapter  of  Ellaline),  or  it  may  be  that  girls 
have  changed  since  the  "  brave  days  when  we  were  twenty- 
one."  At  that  remote  epoch,  as  far  as  I  can  discover  by 
blowing  off  the  dust  from  faded  souvenirs,  one  either  made 
love  to  girls,  or  one  did  n't.  They  were  there  to  dance 
with  and  flirt  with,  and  go  on  the  river  with,  not  to  talk 
politics  to,  or  exchange  opinions  of  the  universe.  They 
—  the  prettiest  ones  —  would  have  thought  that  valuable 
time  was  being  wasted  in  such  discussions.  Yet  here  is 
this  girl,  not  twenty,  a  child  fresh  from  school  —  a  French 
school,  at  that  —  radiant  with  the  power  of  her  youth,  her 
beauty,  her  femininity;  yet  she  seems  actually  interested 
in  problems  of  life  unconnected  with  love  affairs.  She 
appears  to  like  talking  sense,  and  she  has  humour,  far 
more  subtle  than  the  mere,  kittenish  sense  of  fun  which 
belongs  to  her  years  —  or  lack  of  them.  I  dreaded  the 
responsibility  of  her,  but  I  dreaded  much  more  being  bored 
by  her,  flirted  with  by  her.  I  'm  hanged  if  I  could  have 
stood  that  from  the  kind  of  girl  I  was  prepared  to  see;  but 
as  I  said,  I  've  found  a  "pal"  —  if  I  dared  believe  in  her. 
Instead  of  avoiding  my  ward's  society,  and  shoving  it  on  to 
Emily,  as  I  intended,  I  excuse  myself  to  myself  for  contriv- 
ing pretexts  to  bask  in  it. 


68  SETINSILVER 

To-day,  for  instance,  what  do  you  think  I  did  ?  A 
shopping  expedition  was  in  question.  Emily,  who  never 
had  much  taste  in  dress,  and  now  clothes  herself  as  if  in 
punishment  for  sin,  seems  to  know  when  other  women  are 
badly  turned  out.  She  thinks  it  right  that  young  girls 
should  be  simply  dressed,  but  considers  that  in  the  case 
of  Ellaline  simplicity  has  been  carried  too  far.  You  see, 
she  does  n't  know  what  you  and  I  know  about  that  wretched 
fellow  Lethbridge's  end,  and  she  believes  his  daughter 
has  plenty  of  money,  or  will  have,  on  coming  of  age. 
Naturally,  I  don't  undeceive  her.  Emily  is  a  good  soul, 
but  over-conscientious  in  questions  of  money,  and  if  she 
knew  the  truth  she  might  be  inclined  to  hold  the  purse- 
strings  tight.  She  might  even  be  tempted  to  hint  some- 
thing distressing  to  this  poor  girl,  if  the  child  vexed  her 
by  any  thoughtless  little  extravagance;  whereas  I  would  n't 
for  a  good  deal  have  Ellaline's  daughter  guess  she  owes 
anything  to  me. 

Emily  offered  to  choose  frocks  for  Miss  Lethbridge; 
whereupon  that  young  lady  cast  such  a  comical  glance  of 
despair  at  me  —  a  glance  which  I  think  was  involuntary 
—  that  it  was  all  I  could  do  not  to  burst  out  laughing. 
I  saw  so  well  what  was  in  her  mind!  And  if  you  will 
believe  me,  O'Hagan,  I  volunteered  to  go  with  them. 

Having  committed  myself,  I  had  all  the  sensations  of  a 
fly  caught  on  a  sheet  of  "Tanglefoot,"  or  a  prisoner  of 
war  chained  to  a  Roman  chariot;  but  in  the  end  I  enjoyed 
myself  hugely.  Nothing  better  has  happened  to  me  since 
I  used  to  be  taken  to  look  at  the  toyshops  the  day  before 
Christmas.  No,  not  even  my  first  pantomime  could  beat 
this  as  an  experience ! 


SETINSILVER  69 

Emily's  economical  soul  clamoured  for  Oxford  Street. 
I  stood  out  for  Bond,  and  got  my  way.  (You  will  grin  here. 
You  say  I  always  do  get  my  way.)  My  idea  was  to  make 
of  myself  a  kind  of  Last  Resort,  or  Court  of  Appeal.  I 
meant  to  let  Emily  advise,  but  to  sweep  her  aside  if  she 
perpetrated  atrocities.  The  first  shop,  however,  went  to 
my  head.  It  was  one  of  those  where  you  walk  into  a  kind 
of  drawing-room  with  figurines,  or  whatever  you  call 
them  —  slender,  headless  ladies  in,  model  dresses  — 
grouped  about,  and  other  equally  slender,  but  long-headed 
ladies  in  black  satin  trains,  showing  off  their  dummy  sisters. 

It  was  the  figurines  that  intoxicated  me.  I  saw  Ellaline's 
head  —  in  imagination  —  coming  out  at  the  top  of  all  the 
prettiest  dresses.  They  were  wonderfully  simple,  too,  the 
most  attractive  ones;  seemed  just  the  thing  for  a  young 
girl.  Emily  walked  past  them  as  if  they  were  vulgar 
acquaintances  trying  to  catch  her  eye  at  a  duchess's  ball, 
but  they  trapped  me.  There  was  a  white  thing  for  the 
street,  that  looked  as  if  it  had  been  made  for  Ellaline, 
and  a  blue  fluff,  cut  low  in  the  neck,  exactly  the  right 
colour  to  show  up  her  hair.  Then  there  was  a  film  of 
pink,  with  wreaths  of  little  rosebuds  dotted  about  — 
made  me  think  of  spring.  (I  told  you  I  'd  lost  my 
head,  did  n't  I  ?) 

I  stopped  my  ward,  pointed  out  these  things  to  her,  and 
asked  her  if  she  liked  them.  She  said  she  did,  but  they 
would  be  horribly  expensive.  .  She  would  n't  think  of 
buying  such  dreams.  With  that,  up  swam  one  of  the  satin 
ladies  (whose  back  view  was  precisely  like  that  of  a  wet, 
black  codfish  with  a  long  tail;  I  believe  she  was  "Direc- 
toire");  and  hovering  near  on  a  sea  of  pale-green  carpet 


70  SETINSILVER 

she  volunteered  the  information  that  these  "little  frocks" 
were  "poems,"  singularly  suited  to  the  style  of  —  I 
expected  her  to  say  my  "daughter."  Instead  of  which, 
however,  she  finished  her  sentence  with  a  "madam" 
that  brought  a  blush  to  my  weather-beaten  face.  I  was 
the  only  one  concerned  who  did  blush,  however,  I  assure 
you!  The  girl  smiled  into  my  eyes,  with  a  mischievous 
twinkle,  and  minded  not  at  all.  A  former  generation 
would  have  simpered,  but  this  young  person  has  n't  a 
simper  in  her. 

I  said  "Nonsense,"  she  could  well  afford  the  dresses. 
She  argued,  and  Emily  returned  to  help  her  form  up  a 
hollow  square.  They  were  both  against  me,  but  I  insisted, 
and  the  codfish  was  a  powerful  ally. 

"Would  they  fit  you  ?"  I  asked  the  girl. 

"Yes,  they  would  fit  me,  I  dare  say.     But " 

That  settled  it. 

"We'll  take  them,"  said  I.  And  after  that,  being 
beside  myself,  I  reconnoitred  the  place,  pointing  my  stick 
at  other  things  which  took  my  fancy.  The  codfish  backed 
me  up  at  every  step,  and  other  codfishes  swam  the  green 
sea,  with  hats  doubtless  brought  from  unseen  coral  caves. 
Most  of  them  were  enormous  hats,  but  remarkably 
attractive,  in  one  way  or  another,  with  large  drooping 
brims  that  dripped  roses  or  frothed  with  ostrich  plumes. 
I  made  Ellaline  take  off  a  small,  round  butter  plate  she 
had  on,  which  was  ugly  in  itself,  though  somehow  it  looked 
like  a  saint's  halo  on  her;  and  murmuring  compliments 
on  "madam's"  hair,  the  siren  codfishes  tried  on  one  hat 
after  another.  I  bought  all,  without  asking  the  prices, 
because  each  one  was  more  becoming  to  the  girl  than  its 


SET  IN  SILVER  71 

predecessor,  and  not  to  have  all,  would  have  been  like 
deliberately  destroying  so  many  original  Gainsboroughs 
or  Sir  Joshuas. 

The  child's  hair,  by  the  way,  is  extraordinarily  vital. 
It  spouts  up  in  two  thick,  bright  billows  over  her  white 
forehead,  like  the  beginning  of  a  strong  fountain  —  a  very 
agreeable  foundation  for  a  hat. 

Seeing  that  I  had  gone  mad,  the  wily  codfishes  took 
advantage  of  my  state,  and  flourished  things  before  my 
eyes,  at  which  Emily  instantly  forbade  me  to  look.  It 
is  true  that  they  were  objects  not  often  seen  by  bachelor 
man,  except  in  shop  windows  and  on  the  advertising  pages 
of  women's  magazines;  but  silk  petticoats  and  cobwebby 
lace  frills  have  no  Gorgon  qualities,  and  I  was  not  turned 
to  stone  by  the  sight  of  them.  I  even  found  courage  to  ask 
of  the  company  at  large  if  they  were  the  sort  of  thing  that 
young  ladies  ought  to  have  in  their  wardrobes.  The 
answer  was  emphatically  in  the  affirmative. 

"Have  you  already  got  all  you  want  of  them,  or  could 
you  make  use  of  more  ?"  I  inquired  of  my  ward. 

"I  should  n't  know  myself  in  such  miracles,"  said  she, 
with  a  kind  of  gasp,  her  eyes  very  bright,  and  her  cheeks 
pinker  than  they  had  been  when  she  was  suspected  of 
bridehood.  She  was  still  suspected  of  it;  indeed,  I  think 
that  in  the  minds  of  the  black  satin  codfishes  circumstantial 
evidence  had  tinkered  suspicion  into  certainty.  But 
Ellaline  was  deaf  to  the  "madam."  They  might  have 
turned  her  from  wife  into  widow  without  her  noticing. 
She  was  burning  with  the  desire  to  possess  those  embroi- 
dered cobwebs  and  those  frilled  petticoats.  I  don't  know 
why  she  should  have  been  more  excited  about  garments 


72  SET  IN  SILVER 

which  few,  if  any,  save  herself,  would  see  after  she  'd 
put  them  on,  than  she  was  about  those  on  which  cats  and 
kings  might  gaze;  but  so  it  was.  I  should  like  to  ask  an 
expert  if  this  is  the  case  with  all  females,  or  if  it  is  excep- 
tional. 

"Send  the  lot  with  the  hats  and  dresses,"  said  I.  And 
when  she  widened  her  eyes  and  gasped,  I  assured  her 
that  I  knew  her  income  better  than  she  did.  Anything 
she  cared  to  have  in  the  way  of  pretty  clothes  she  could 
afford. 

Strange  to  say,  even  then  she  did  n't  seem  comfortable. 
She  opened  her  lips  as  if  to  speak;  shut  them  hastily  at 
the  first  word,  swallowed  it  with  difficulty,  sighed,  and 
looked  anxious.  I  should  rather  have  liked  to  know  what 
was  in  her  mind. 

We  ended  up  by  the  purchase  of  costumes  suitable 
to  the  automobile,  both  for  Emily  and  Ellaline.  I  think 
women  ought  to  be  as  "well  found"  for  motoring,  as  for 
yachting,  don't  you  ?  And  I  am  looking  forward  to  the 
trip  I  intend  to  take.  It  will  be  interesting  to  study  the 
impressions  made  upon  this  young  girl  by  England,  land 
of  history  and  beauty  — 

.     .     .     this  little  world, 
This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea  — 
.     .     .     this  England. 

You  will  laugh  at  me,  perhaps,  for  my  long  "harping" 
on  my  ward;  but  anyhow,  don't  misunderstand.  It 's 
not  because  she  is  pretty  and  engaging  (one  would  say  that 
of  a  kitten),  but  because  of  the  startling  contrast  between 
the  real  girl  and  the  girl  of  my  imagination.  I  can't  help 
thinking  about  her  a  good  deal  for  this  reason,  and  what 


SETINSILVER  73 

I  think  of  I  have  generally  talked  of  or  written  of  fully 
to  you,  my  best  and  oldest  friend.  It 's  a  habit  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  century  old,  and  I  don't  mean  to  break  it 
now,  particularly  as  you  have  made  rather  a  point  of  my 
continuing  it  on  my  return  "home"  after  all  these  years. 

London  has  got  hold  of  me.  I  am  fascinated  by  it. 
Either  it  has  improved  as  it  has  grown,  or  I  am  in  a  mood 
to  be  pleased  with  anything  English.  Do  you  remember 
dear  old  Ennis's  Rooms,  which  you  and  I  used  to  think 
the  height  of  luxury  and  gaiety  ?  I  've  promised  myself 
to  go  there  again,  and  I  mean  to  take  Ellaline  and  Emily 
to  supper  after  the  theatre  to-night.  I  think  I  shall  keep 
this  letter  open  to  tell  you  how  the  old  place  impresses  me. 

Midnight  and  a  half. 

I  've  had  a  shock.  Ennis's  is  dead  as  a  doornail.  We 
entered,  after  the  theatre,  and  galvanized  the  Rooms  into 
a  kind  of  dreadful  life.  They  "don't  serve  many  suppers 
now,  sir,"  it  seems.  "  It 's  mostly  luncheons  and  dinners." 

The  waiters  resented  us  as  intruders.  We  were  the 
only  ones,  too,  which  made  it  worse,  as  all  their  rancour 
was  visited  on  us;  but  we  had  n't  been  for  many  minutes 
at  our  old  favourite  table  (the  one  thing  unchanged), 
trying  to  keep  up  a  spurious  gaiety,  when  another  party  of 
two  ventured  in. 

They  were  young  Dick  Burden  and  his  aunt,  Mrs. 
Senter. 

Now,  you  may  n't  see  it,  but  this  was  rather  odd.  It 
would  n't  have  been  odd  in  the  past,  to  meet  your  most 
intimate  friend  from  round  the  corner,  and  the  Shah  of 
Persia,  at  Ennis's.  But  evidently  the  "  people  who  amuse 


74  SETINSILVER 

themselves"  don't  come  now.  It's  not  "the  thing." 
Why,  therefore,  should  this  couple  choose  Ennis's  for 
supper  ?  They  have  n't  been  out  of  England  for  fifteen 
years,  like  me.  If  Mrs.  Senter  occasionally  spends  Sat- 
urday to  Monday  in  India,  or  visits  the  Sphinx  when  the 
Sphinx  is  in  season,  she  always  returns  to  London  when 
"everybody  is  in  town,"  and  there  does  as  everybody 
does. 

I  immediately  suspected  that  Burden  had  brought  her 
with  an  object:  that  object,  to  gain  an  introduction  to 
Ellaline.  The  suspicion  may  seem  far-fetched;  but  you 
would  n't  pronounce  it  so  if  you  could  have  seen  the 
young  man's  face,  in  the  railway  station  at  Paris,  the  other 
day.  I  had  that  privilege;  and  I  observed  at  the  time  his 
wish  to  know  my  ward,  without  feeling  a  responsive  one 
to  gratify  it.  I  don't  know  why  I  did  n't  feel  it,  but  I 
did  n't,  though  the  desire  was  both  pardonable  and 
natural  in  the  young  fellow.  He  has  a  determined  jaw; 
therefore  perhaps  it 's  equally  natural  that,  when  dis- 
appointed, he  should  persist  —  even  follow,  and  adopt 
strong  measures  (in  other  words,  an  aunt)  to  obtain  his 
object.  You  see,  Ellaline  is  an  extremely  pretty  girl, 
and  I  'm  not  alone  in  thinking  so. 

My  idea  is  that,  having  found  us  in  the  newspapers, 
staying  at  the  Ritz,  the  boy  must  have  somehow  informed 
himself  as  to  our  movements,  awaiting  his  opportunity  — 
or  his  aunt.  I  bought  my  theatre  tickets  in  the  hotel. 
He  may  have  got  his  information  from  there;  and  the  rest 
was  easy  —  as  far  as  Ennis's.  I  'm  afraid  the  rest  was, 
too,  because  Mrs.  Senter  selected  the  table  nearest  ours, 
and  after  we  had  exchanged  greetings  proposed  that  we 


SET  IN  SILVER  75 

join  parties.  The  tables  were  placed  together,  and 
introductions  all  round  were  a  matter  of  course.  Young 
England  expects  that  every  aunt  will  do  her  duty! 

They  still  give  you  very  good  food  at  Ennis's,  but  it 's 
rather  like  eating  "funeral  baked  meats." 

Mrs.  Senter  is  exactly  what  she  was  some  years  ago. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  ungallant  to  recall  to  your  memory 
just  how  many  years  ago.  She  is,  if  anything,  younger. 
I  believe  there's  a  maxim,  "Once  a  duchess,  always  a 
duchess."  I  think  women  of  to-day  have  another: 
"Once  thirty,  always  thirty";  or,  "Once  thirty,  always 
twenty-nine."  But,  joking  apart,  she  is  a  very  agreeable 
and  rather  witty  woman,  sympathetic  too,  apparently, 
though  I  believe  you  used  to  think,  when  she  was  out 
smiting  hearts  at  our  Back  o'  Beyond,  that  in  nature  she 
somewhat  resembled  a  certain  animal  worshipped  by 
the  Egyptians  and  feared  by  mice.  She  seems  very  fond 
of  her  nephew  Dick,  with  whom  she  says  she  goes  about  a 
good  deal.  "We  chaperon  each  other,"  she  expressed  it. 
She  pities  me  for  my  fire  at  Graylees,  but  envies  me  my 
motoring  trip. 

We  shall  be  off  in  a  few  days,  now,  I  hope,  as  soon  as 
Ellaline  has  been  shown  a  few  "features"  of  London. 
I  went  to  see  the  car  to-day,  and  she  is  a  beauty.  I  shall 
try  her  for  the  first  time  to-morrow. 

Ever  Yours, 
PEN. 


VII 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Ritz  Hotel,  London,  July  9th 

ONE  AND  ONLY  COMPLEAT  MOTHER:  Things  have 
happened.  I  felt  them  coming  in  my  bones  —  not  my 
funny  bones  this  time.  For  the  things  may  turn  out  to 
be  not  at  all  funny. 

Mr.  Richard  Burden  has  been  introduced  to  the  alleged 
Miss  Lethbridge.  I  wonder  if  he  can  know  she  is  merely 
"the  alleged"?  He  is  certainly  changed,  somehow,  both 
in  his  manner,  and  in  his  way  of  looking  at  one.  I  thought 
in  Paris  he  had  n't  at  all  a  bad  face,  though  rather  im- 
pudent —  and  besides,  even  Man  is  a  fellow  being !  But 
last  night,  for  a  minute,  he  really  had  an  incredibly  wicked 
expression;  or  else  he  was  suppressing  a  sneeze.  I 
could  n't  be  quite  sure  which  —  as  you  said  about  Aubrey 
Beardsley's  weird  black-and-white  women. 

It  was  at  a  restaurant  —  a  piteous  restaurant,  where  the 
waiters  looked  like  enchanted  waiters  in  the  Palace  of 
the  Sleeping  Beauty.  He  —  Mr.  Dicky  Burden  —  came 
in,  with  an  aunt.  Such  an  aunt!  I  could  never  be  at 
home  with  her  as  an  aunt  if  I  were  a  grown-up  man, 
though  she  might  make  a  bewitching  cousin.  She 's 
quite  beautiful,  dear,  and  graceful;  but  I  don't  like 
her  at  all.  I  think  Sir  Lionel  does,  though.  They  knew 
76 


SETINSILVER  77 

each  other  in  Bengal,  and  she  kept  saying  to  him  in  a 
cooing  voice,  "Do  you  remember  ?" 

You  can  see  she  's  too  clever  to  be  always  clever,  because 
that  bores  people;  but  she  says  witty,  sharp  things  which 
sound  as  if  they  came  out  of  plays,  or  books,  and  you  think 
back  to  see  whether  she  deliberately  led  up  to  them.  For 
instance,  she  asked  Sir  Lionel,  apropos  of  woman's 
suffrage,  whether,  on  the  whole,  he  preferred  a  man's 
woman,  or  a  woman's  woman  ? 

"  What 's  the  difference  ?"  he  wanted  to  know. 

"All  the  difference  between  a  Gibson  girl  and  an  Ibsen 
girl,"  said  she.  I  wonder  if  she  'd  heard  that,  or  made 
it  up?  Anyhow,  when  Sir  Lionel  threw  back  his  head 
and  laughed,  in  an  attractive  way  he  has,  which  shows 
a  dent  in  his  chin,  I  wished  I  'd  said  it.  But  the  more  she 
flashed  out  bright  things,  the  more  of  a  lump  I  was.  I 
do  think  the  one  unpardonable  sin  is  dulness,  and  I  felt 
guilty  of  it.  She  simply  vampired  me.  Sucked  my  wits 
dry.  And,  do  you  know,  I  'm  afraid  she  's  going  on  the 
motor  trip  with  us  ? 

Sir  Lionel  does  n't  dream  of  such  a  thing,  but  she  does. 
And  she  's  the  sort  of  person  whose  dreams,  if  they  're 
about  men,  come  true.  Of  course,  I  don't  know  her  well 
enough  to  hate  her,  but  I  feel  it  coming  on. 

In  books,  all  villainesses  who  're  worth  their  salt  have 
little,  sharp  teeth  and  pointed  nails.  Mrs.  Senter's  teeth 
and  nails  are  just  like  other  women's,  only  better.  Book 
villainesses'  hair  is  either  red  or  blue-black.  Hers  is  pale 
gold,  though  her  eyes  are  brown,  and  very  soft  when  they 
turn  toward  Sir  Lionel.  Nevertheless,  though  I  'm  not 
cattish,  except  when  absolutely  necessary,  I  know  she  's 


78  SET  IN  SILVER 

a  pig,  never  happy  unless  she  has  the  centre  of  the  stage, 
whether  it 's  her  part  or  not  —  wanting  everyone  to  feel  the 
curtain  rises  when  she  comes  on,  and  falls  when  she  goes 
off.  She  looks  twenty-eight,  so  I  suppose  she  's  thirty- 
five;  but  really  she  's  most  graceful.  Standing  up  for 
Sir  Lionel  to  take  off  her  cloak,  her  trailing  gray  satin 
dress  twisted  about  her  feet,  as  some  charming,  slender 
trees  stand  with  their  bark  spreading  out  round  them  on 
the  ground,  and  folding  in  lovely  lines  like  drapery. 

She  managed  to  draw  Mrs.  Norton  into  conversation 
with  her  and  Sir  Lionel,  and  to  let  Dick  talk  to  me,  so 
they  must  have  arranged  beforehand  what  they  would  do. 
At  first,  when  he  had  got  his  wish  and  been  introduced, 
he  spoke  of  ordinary  things,  but  presently  he  asked  if  I 
remembered  his  saying  that  he  wished  to  go  into  a  certain 
profession.  I  answered  "Yes,"  before  I  stopped  to  think, 
which  I  *m  afraid  flattered  him,  and  then  he  wanted  me  to 
guess  what  the  profession  was.  When  I  would  n't,  he 
said  it  was  that  of  a  detective.  "If  I  succeed,  my  mother 
will  give  up  her  objections,"  he  explained.  "And  I  think 
I  shall  succeed."  It  was  when  he  said  this,  that  he  looked 
so  wicked  —  or  else  as  if  he  wanted  to  sneeze  —  as  I  told 
you.  What  can  he  mean  ?  And  what  has  he  found  out  ? 
Or  is  it  only  my  bad  conscience  ?  Oh,  dear,  I  should  like 
to  give  it  a  thorough  spring  cleaning,  as  one  does  in  Lent ! 
I  'm  afraid  that 's  what  is  needed.  I  've  had  plenty  of 
blacks  on  it  since  Ellaline  made  me  consent  to  her 
plan,  and  I  began  to  carry  it  out.  But  now  I  have 
more.  I  have  lots  of  dresses  and  hats  on  it,  too  —  lovely 
ones.  And  petticoats,  and  such  things,  etc.,  etc. 
Did  Dragons  of  old  insist  on  their  fairy  princess- 


SET    IN  SILVER  79 

prisoners  having  exquisite  clothes,  and  say  "hang  the 
expense"  ?  This  Dragon  has  done  so  with  his 
Princess,  and  I  had  to  take  the  things,  because,  you  see,  I 
have  engaged  to  play  the  part,  and  this  apparently  is  his 
rich  conception  of  it.  He  says  that  I  —  Ellaline  —  can 
afford  to  have  everything  that 's  nice;  so  what  can  I  do  ? 
The  worst  of  it  is,  much  of  my  new  finery  is  so  delicate,  it 
will  be  dtfraiche  by  the  time  the  real  Ellaline  can  have  it, 
even  if  it  would  fit  or  suit  her,  which  it  won't.  But  prob- 
ably the  man  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  with  a  ward  in  gray 
serge  and  a  sailor  hat,  so  I  could  n't  very  well  violate  his 
feelings.  Perhaps  if  I  'd  refused  to  do  what  he  wanted, 
all  his  hidden  Dragon-ness  would  have  rushed  to  the  sur- 
face; but  as  I  was  quite  meek,  he  behaved  more  like  an 
angel  than  a  dragon. 

It  really  was  fun  buying  the  things,  in  a  fascinating 
shop  where  the  assistants  were  all  more  refined  than 
duchesses,  and  so  slender-waisted  they  seemed  to  be  held 
together  only  by  their  spines  and  a  ladylike  ligament  or 
two.  But  if  Providence  did  n't  wish  women  to  lace,  why 
were  n't  our  ribs  made  to  go  all  the  way  down  ?  The  way 
we  were  created,  it 's  an  incentive  to  pinch  waists.  It 
seems  meant,  does  n't  it  ? 

I  was  a  dream  to  look  at  when  we  went  to  supper  at  that 
restaurant;  which  was  one  comfort.  Mrs.  Senter's  things 
were  no  nicer  than  mine,  and  she  was  so  interested  in 
what  I  wore.  Only  she  was  a  good  deal  more  interested 
in  Sir  Lionel. 

"Everywhere  I  go,  people  are  talking  of  you,"  she  said. 
"You  have  given  them  exciting  things  to  talk  about." 

"Really,   I  wasn't  aware  of  it,"   returned   the   poor 


80  SET  IN  SILVER 

Dragon,  as  apologetically  as  if  she  'd  waked  him  up  to  say 
he  'd  been  snoring. 

Since  I  wrote  you,  I  Ve  heard  more  things  about  his 
past  from  Mrs.  Norton,  who  is  as  proud  of  her  brother, 
after  a  fashion,  as  a  cat  of  its  mouse,  and  always  wanting  to 
show  him  off,  in  just  the  same  way.  (We  all  have  our 
"mouse,"  have  n't  we?  I  'm  yours.  Just  now,  the  new 
hats  are  mine.)  She  has  told  me  a  splendid  story  about  a 
thing  he  did  in  Bengal:  saved  twelve  people's  lives  in  a 
house  that  was  on  fire  in  the  middle  of  the  night  —  the 
kind  of  house  which  blazes  like  a  haystack.  And,  accord- 
ing to  her,  he  thinks  no  more  of  rescuing  drowning  per- 
sons who  jump  off  ships  in  seas  swarming  with  sharks 
than  we  think  of  fishing  a  fly  out  of  our  bath.  Now,  is 
it  possible  for  a  man  like  that  to  be  treacherous  to  women, 
and  to  accept  bribes  for  being  guardian  to  their  children  ? 
I  do  wish  I  knew  what  to  make  of  it  all  —  and  of  him. 

He  has  taken  the  funny  little  Bengalese  valet,  who  has 
been,  and  is  to  be,  his  chauffeur,  to  try  the  new  car  this 
morning.  He  meant  to  have  gone  before  this  to  look  at 
his  partly  burnt  castle  in  Warwickshire,  but  he  says 
London  has  captivated  him,  and  he  can't  tear  himself 
away;  that  he  will  go  in  a  day  or  two,  when  he  has  trotted 
Mrs.  Norton  and  me  about  to  see  a  few  more  sights.  Of 
course,  we  could  quite  well  see  the  sights  by  ourselves. 
Mrs.  Norton  has  seen  them  all,  anyhow,  and  only  re  visits 
them  for  my  sake;  while  as  for  me,  you  and  I "  did  "  London 
thrillingly  together  in  the  last  two  months  of  our  glory. 
But  Sir  Lionel  has  an  interesting  way  of  telling  things, 
and  he  is  as  enthusiastic  as  a  boy  over  his  England.  Not 
that  he  gushes;  but  one  knows,  somehow,  what  he  is 


SET  IN  SILVER  81 

feeling.  I  can't  imagine  his  ever  being  tired,  ut  he  is 
very  considerate  of  us  —  seems  to  think  women  are  frail 
as  glass.  I  suppose  women  are  a  sex  by  themselves,  but  we 
are  n't  as  different  as  all  that. 

Once  in  a  while  he  threw  a  sideways  glare  at  Dick 
Burden,  when  D.  B.  was  talking  with  a  confidential  air  to 
me.  I  know  from  Ellaline  and  Mrs.  Norton  that  Sir 
Lionel  dislikes  women;  but  all  the  same  I  believe  he 
thinks  we  ought  to  be  kept  indoors  unless  veiled,  and 
never  allowed  to  talk  to  men,  except  our  relatives. 

Mrs.  Norton  is  so  funny,  without  knowing  it.  She 
asked  her  brother  as  gravely  as  possible  at  breakfast  this 
morning:  "Had  you  a  harem  in  Bengal,  dear?" 

"Good  heavens,  no!"  he  answered,  turning  red.  "What 
put  such  a  ghastly  idea  into  your  head  ?" 

"Oh,  I  only  thought  perhaps  it  was  the  thing,  and  you 
were  obliged  to,  or  be  talked  about,"  she  explained,  calmly. 

He  went  on  to  tell  her  that  it  was  not  at  all  necessary 
to  have  harems,  and  she  was  quite  surprised.  You  would 
think  that  she  'd  have  taken  pains  to  find  out  every  detail 
of  her  brother's  life  in  a  country  where  he  was  one  of  the 
head  men,  would  n't  you  ?  But  she  hardly  feels  that  any 
country  except  her  own  is  worth  serious  inquiries.  She 
has  the  impression  that  "heathen"  are  all  alike,  and 
mostly  naked,  but  not  as  embarrassing  to  meet  as  if  they 
were  white. 

Good-bye,  dearest.  I  'm  afraid  I  write  very  discon- 
nected letters.  But  I  feel  "disconnected"  myself,  some- 
how, like  a  telephone  that 's  been  "cut  off." 

Your  loving  and  well-dressed 

DECEIVER. 


82  SETINSILVER 

P.  S.  It 's  to-morrow,  for  I  forgot  to  post  this,  there 
were  so  many  things  "  doing."  Please  forgive  me. 
The  car  's  splendid,  and  I  am  to  christen  her.  We  're 
going  to  have  a  kind  of  ceremony  like  a  launching, 
and  I  have  to  think  of  a  name  for  her,  and  throw 
wine  on  her  bonnet.  Sir  Lionel  is  longing  to  get 
off  on  the  tour,  he  says;  and  as  he  's  to  leave  town 
for  Warwickshire  to-morrow,  turning  me  over  tem- 
porarily to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  good — (his  sister) — 
I  almost  hope  _that  after  all  Mrs.  Senter  may  n't 
have  time  to  "sweedle"  him  into  taking  her  with 
us,  as  I  know  she  hopes  to  do. 

We,  by  the  way,  are  not  to  see  his  place  until  the  burnt 
bit  is  mended.  We  're  to  avoid  Warwickshire  in  starting 
out,  go  away  up  North  as  far  as  the  Roman  Wall,  visit 
Bamborough  Castle,  where  he  thinks  friends  of  his,  who 
own  it,  will  actually  invite  us  to  lunch,  or  something  (it 
seems  like  a  dream),  and  then  stop  in  Warwickshire  at  the 
end  of  the  tour,  when  all  the  dilapidations  have  been  made 
good.  The  Dragon  naturally  expects  me,  not  only  to 
finish  the  trip,  but  to  take  up  my  residence  at  Graylees 
until  next  spring,  when  his  plan  is  that  his  ward  shall  be 
presented.  Oh,  mice  and  men,  and  dragons,  how  aft 
your  plans  gang  agley !  Of  course,  mine  depend  altogether 
upon  Ellaline.  I  hold  myself  ready  for  marching  orders 
from  her.  But  I  must  confess  to  you  that,  whether  right  or 
wrong,  I  don't  look  forward  to  the  weeks  of  my  duties  as 
understudy  with  the  same  feelings  I  had  when  I  was 
engaged  to  perform  them. 

Little  did  Sir  Lionel  guess  what  was  in  my  mind  this 
morning,  when  I  asked  if  one  could  see  most  of  England 


SETINSILVER  83 

in  a  few  weeks  when  motoring!     But  I  may  have  to  take 
my  flight  from  the  car,  so  to  speak,  unless  Ellaline  be 
detained  for  some  reason.     I  'm  expecting  a  letter  from 
her  any  day  now,  and  there  may  be  definite  news. 
Good-bye,  again,  dearest. 


VIII 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Royal  Hotel,  Chichester, 
July  17th 

BRIGHTEST  AND  BEST:  La  Donna  6  automobile.  I  am 
"la  donna";  and  the  most  inward  Me-ness  of  my  Me 
^  automobile. 

Some  people  —  Mrs.  Norton,  for  instance  —  might 
say:  "What  on  earth  does  the  silly  thing  mean?"  But 
you  always  know  what  I  mean.  You  and  I  were  born 
knowing  quite  a  lot  of  nice  little  things  like  that,  were  n't 
we  ?  Things  we  picked  up  during  our  various  incarnations ; 
things  new  souls  have  n't  had  time  to  collect,  poor  dears. 

My  automobiliness  is  the  reason  I  've  only  sent  you 
snippy  "how-do-you-do  and  good-bye"  notes,  inter- 
spersed with  telegrams,  for  the  last  few  days,  just  thank- 
ing you  for  wise  advice,  and  saying  "Glad-you  're- well; 
so-am-I." 

You  will  guess  from  my  very  handwriting  that  I  'm 
feeling  more  at  home  in  life  than  I  did  when  I  wrote  you 
last.  And  I  can't  help  being  pleased  that  Ellaline's 
adored  one  won't  be  Table  to  leave  his  manoeuvres,  to  make 
her  his  own,  till  a  fortnight  or  so  later  than  she  expected. 
That  is,  I  can't  help  being  glad,  as  the  doctor  thinks  you 
ought  to  stop  at  Champel-les-Bains  till  after  the  first  week 
84 


SET  IN  SILVER  85 

of  September,  and  we  could  n't  be  together,  even  if  I  were 
back  in  Paris.  You  swear  you  did  n't  hypnotize  him  to 
say  that?  I  would  enjoy  more  peace  of  mind,  while 
careering  through  England  in  Apollo,  if  I  were  certain. 

Oh,  that  reminds  me,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  what  fun  it  was 
christening  Apollo.  I  quite  enjoyed  it,  and  felt  immensely 
important.  Don't  you  think  "Apollo"  an  appropriate 
name  for  such  a  magnificent  car  as  I  've  described  to  you  ? 
The  Sun  God  —  Driver  of  the  Chariot  of  the  Sun  ?  Sir 
Lionel  likes  it;  but  he  says  he  isn't  sure  "The  Cloud" 
would  n't  be  a  more  appropriate  name,  because  the  car 
costs  such  a  lot  that  "  she  "  has  a  silver  lining.  I  began  by 
calling  her  "  it,"  but  he  won't  let  me  do  that.  He  does  n't 
much  mind  my  being  amateurish,  but  he  hates  me  to  be 
disrespectful. 

I  am  so  dazzled  by  the  motor  and  enchanted  with  the 
sport  of  motoring  —  as  well  as  seeing  things  even  more 
lovely  than  I  hoped  for — that  I'm  not  worrying  over 
Dick  Burden  and  his  mysterious  hints  about  himself  as  a 
detective.  Besides,  when  he  and  his  aunt  came  to  tea 
(you  '11  remember  I  told  you  in  a  scrap  of  a  note  that  it 
was  the  day  Sir  Lionel  went  to  Warwickshire,  and  how 
vexed  Mrs.  Senter  Was  to  find  him  gone),  Mr.  Dick  made 
himself  quite  pleasant.  He  was  n't  impertinent,  or  too 
admiring,  or  anything  which  a  well-brought-up  young 
Englishman  ought  not  to  be.  Indeed,  I  thought  by  his 
manner  that  he  wanted  tacitly  to  apologize  for  his  bad 
behaviour  when  we  first  met;  so  probably,  when  I  fancied 
he  looked  wicked  that  night  at  Ennis's  Rooms,  it  was 
because  he  wanted  to  sneeze.  You  have  taught  me  to 
give  everybody,  except  young  men,  the  benefit  of  the  doubt; 


86  SET  IN  SILVER 

but  I  don't  see  why  one  should  n't  give  it  to  young  men, 
too.  I  think  they  're  rather  easier  to  forgive,  somehow, 
than  women.  Is  that  why  they  're  dangerous  ?  But 
D.  B.  could  never  be  dangerous  to  me,  in  the  sense  of 
falling  in  love. 

His  aunt  certainly  wishes  to  throw  us  together;  I  suppose 
on  account  of  Ellaline's  money.  She  does  n't  like  girls, 
I  'm  sure,  but  would  always  be  ready,  on  principle,  to 
give  first  aid  to  heiresses.  It  is  something  to  be  thank- 
ful for  that  she  has  n't  grafted  herself  on  to  our  party,  as 
I  feared  she  might;  and  though  they  're  both  going  to  stop 
at  some  country  house  near  Southsea,  and  they  "hope 
we  may  meet,"  I  dare  say  I  shan't  be  bothered  by  them 
again  while  I  'm  in  England.  I  don't  intend  to  worry. 
La  donna  6  automobilel 

I  have  n't  properly  described  our  start,  or  told  you 
about  the  things  I  've  seen  en  route,  and  I  promised 
to  tell  you  everything;  so  I  '11  go  back  to  the  beginning 
of  the  trip. 

There  was  Apollo,  throbbing  with  joy  of  life  in  front 
of  the  hotel  door,  at  nine  o'clock  of  a  perfect  English 
morning.  There  were  statuesque,  Ritzy  footmen,  gazing 
admiringly  at  the  big  golden-yellow  car  (that  was  one 
of  the  reasons  I  thought  she  should  be  named  after  the 
Sun  God,  she  is  so  golden).  There  was  Charu  Chunder 
Bose,  alias  Young  Nick,  who  would  think  it  a 
sin  against  all  his  gods  to  dress  as  a  chauffeur, 
and  who  continues  to  garb  himself  as  a  self- 
respecting  Bengali  —  Young  Nick,  with  his  sleepy 
eyes,  and  his  Buddha-when-young  smile,  about  as  appro- 
priate on  a  motor-car  as  a  baby  crocodile.  There  was 


SET  IN  SILVER  87 

Sir  Lionel  waiting  to  tuck  us  in.  There  were  we  two 
females  in  neat  gray  motor  dust-cloaks,  on  which  the 
Dragon  insisted ;  Mrs.  Norton  in  a  toque,  which  she  wore 
as  if  it  were  a  remote  and  dreaded  contingency;  your 
Audrie  in  a  duck  of  an  early  Victorian  bonnet,  in  which 
she  liked  herself  better  than  in  anything  else  she  ever  had 
on  before.  There,  too,  was  our  luggage,  made  to  fit  the 
car,  and  looking  like  the  very  last  word  of  up-to-dateness 
—  if  you  know  what  that  look  is. 

Of  course,  it  was  n't  the  first  time  I  'd  been  out  in  the 
car,  for  I  think  I  told  you,  the  day  Apollo  was  christened 
I  had  a  spin;  but  it  rained,  and  we  went  only  through  the 
Park.  That  was  nothing.  This  morning  we  were  bid- 
ding good-bye  to  London,  and  our  pulses  were  beating 
high  for  the  Tour.  Young  Nick  drove  on  the  christening 
day,  but  this  time  Sir  Lionel  took  the  driver's  seat,  with 
the  brown  idol  beside  him;  and  I  saw  instantly,  by  the 
very  way  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  steering-wheel,  with  a 
kind  of  caress  —  as  a  horse-lover  pats  a  beloved  mare's 
neck  —  that  he  and  the  golden  car  were  in  perfect 
sympathy. 

We  were  starting  early,  because  Sir  Lionel  had  planned  a 
good  many  things  for  us  to  see  before  dark;  but  early  as 
it  was,  Piccadilly  and  Knightsbridge  were  seething  with 
traffic.  Motor  buses  like  mad  hippopotamuses;  taxi- 
cabs  like  fierce  young  lions;  huge  carts  like  elephants;  and 
other  vehicles  of  all  sorts  to  make  up  a  confused  medley 
of  wild  animals  escaped  from  the  Zoo.  It  looked  appalling 
to  mingle  with,  but  our  own  private  Dragon  drove 
so  skilfully,  yet  so  carefully,  that  I  never  bit  my  heart  once. 
Always  the  car  seemed  sentient,  steering  its  way  like  a  long, 


88  SETINSILVER 

thin  pike;  then  when  the  chance  came,  flashing  ahead, 
dauntless  and  sure. 

We  went  by  a  great  domed  palace  — Harrod's  Stores  — 
and  then  over  Putney  Bridge,  passing  Swinburne's  house, 
whose  outside  is  as  deceiving  as  an  oyster-shell  that  hides 
a  pearl ;  through  Epsom,  Charles  the  Second's  "Brighton" 
(which  I  've  been  reading  about  in  a  volume  [of  Pepys 
Sir  Lionel  has  given  me),  to  Leatherhead,  along  the 
Dorking  Road,  slowing  up  for  a  glimpse  of  Juniper  Hall, 
glowing  red  as  a  smouldering  bonfire  behind  a  dark 
latticed  screen  of  splendid  Lebanon  cedars.  I  dare  say 
it 's  a  good  deal  changed  since  dear  little  Fanny  Burney's 
day,  for  the  house  looks  quite  modern;  but  then  neither 
buildings  nor  the  people  who  live  in  them  show  their 
age  early  in  England. 

Close  under  Box  Hill  we  glided ;  and  Sir  Lionel  pointed 
out  a  little  path  leading  up  on  the  left  to  George  Mere- 
dith's cottage.  Just  a  small  house  of  gray  stone  it  is  (for 
I  would  get  out  and  walk  up  part  way  to  see  it  from  far 
off,  not  to  intrude  or  spy);  and  there  that  great  genius 
shines  out,  a  clear,  white  light  for  the  world,  like  a  beacon 
or  a  star. 

Evidently  Surrey  air  suits  geniuses.  Do  you  remember 
reading  about  Keats,  that  he  wrote  a  lot  of  "Endymion" 
at  Burford  Bridge  ?  It  was  only  a  little  after  ten  o'clock 
when  we  passed  the  quaint-looking  hotel  there,  but 
already  at  least  a  dozen  motors  were  drawn  up  before  it. 
I  wanted  to  go  in  and  ask  if  they  show  the  room  Lord 
Nelson  used;  but  we  had  too  many  things  to  see. 

Of  course,  I  am  always  wishing  for  you,  but  I  began  to 
wish  the  hardest  just  as  we  came  into  this  green,  brackeny, 


SET  IN  SILVER  89 

fairyland  of  Surrey.  It 's  the  kind  of  country  you  love 
best;  although  I  must  say  it  was  never  planned  for  motors. 
Winding  through  those  green  tunnels  which  are  the 
Surrey  lanes,  I  felt  as  if,  in  some  quaint  dream,  I  were 
motoring  on  a  tight -rope,  expecting  another  car  to  want 
to  pass  me  on  the  same  rope  —  which  naturally  it 
could  n't! 

It  would  have  been  much  worse,  though,  if  Young  Nick 
had  been  driving.  That  little,  smooth  brown  face  of  his 
looks  as  if  its  idol-simper  hid  no  human  emotions,  and  I 
believe  if  people  and  animals  were  perfectly  flat,  like 
paper  dolls,  so  that  they  would  do  no  harm  to  his  car,  he 
would  n't  mind  how  many  he  drove  over.  Luckily,  how- 
ever, they  are  n't  flat,  and  the  only  thing  earthly  he  adores, 
after  his  master,  is  his  motor;  so  he  is  nice  and  cautious 
for  its  sake.  But  the  Dragon  thinks  of  everyone,  and 
says  there  's  no  pleasure  for  him  in  motoring  if  he  leaves 
a  trail  of  distress  or  even  annoyance  along  the  road  as  he 
passes.  He  slows  down  at  corners;  he  goes  carefully 
round  them;  he  almost  walks  Apollo  in  places  where 
creatures  of  any  kind  may  start  out  unexpectedly;  and  he 
blows  our  pleasant  musical  horn  as  if  by  instinct,  never 
forgetting,  as  I  'm  sure  I  should  do. 

As  we  twisted  and  turned  through  the  Surrey  lanes, 
between  Dorking  and  Shere,  little  children  in  red  cloaks 
and  tarns  appeared  from  behind  hedges,  looking  like  blow- 
ing poppies  as  they  ran.  And  blue-eyed,  gold-brown 
haired  girls  in  cottage  doorways,  under  hanging  bowers 
of  roses,  were  as  decorative  as  Old  Chelsea  china  girls. 
The  red  tiles  of  their  roofs,  as  I  turned  back  for  one  more 
glimpse,  would  already  be  half  hidden  in  waves  of  green, 


90  SET  IN  SILVER 

but  would  just  show  up  like  beds  of  scarlet  geraniums 
buried  in  leaves. 

Shere  was  almost  too  beautiful  to  be  real,  with  its  rows 
of  Elizabethan  cottages  whose  windows  twinkled  at  us 
with  their  diamond-shaped,  diamond-bright  panes,  spark- 
ling under  their  low,  thatch-eyebrows,  from  between  black 
oak  beams.  The  Tudor  chimneys  were  as  graceful  as 
the  smoke  wreaths  that  lazily  spiraled  above  them,  and 
the  whole  effect  was  —  was  —  well,  inexpressibly  Birket 
Foster.  I  used  to  think  he  idealized ;  but  then,  I  M  never 
seen  anything  of  England  but  London,  and  did  n't  know 
how  all  English  trees,  cottages,  and  even  clouds,  are 
trained  to  group  themselves  to  suit  artists  of  different 
schools. 

I  kept  wishing  that  you  'd  made  me  study  architecture 
and  botany,  instead  of  languages  and  music.  In  justice 
to  oneself,  one  ought,  when  travelling  in  England,  to  have 
at  least  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  every  sort  of  archi- 
tecture, and  all  families  of  flowers,  to  say  nothing  of  trees, 
so  that  one  might  exclaim,  as  snobs  do  of  royalties  and 
celebrities:  "Oh,  she  was  the  great  granddaughter  of  So- 
and-So."  "He  married  Lady  This-and-That."  Also, 
I  find  I  need  much  more  knowledge  of  literature  than  I 
have.  This  country  is  divided  off  into  a  kind  of  glorious 
chessboard,  each  square  being  sacred  to  some  immortal 
author,  playwright,  or  poet.  The  artists  press  them  close, 
without  overcrowding;  and  history  lies  underneath  — 
history  for  every  square  inch. 

"Twelve  coffin  deep,"  I  quoted  Kipling  to  myself,  as 
my  mind  panted  along  Roman  roads,  and  the  Pilgrim's 
Way. 


SETINSILVER  91 

"Why,  was  there  a  cemetery  there?"  asked  Mrs. 
Norton,  looking  mildly  interested. 

She,  by  the  way,  does  n't  much  care  for  ruins.  She 
says  they  're  so  untidy. 

You  and  I  travelled  till  our  money  threatened  to  give  out 
in  the  noble  cause  of  sight-seeing,  but  I  never  realized 
history  quite  so  potently  even  in  Italy  as  I  do  in  England. 
Yet  that 's  not  strange,  when  you  think  how  tiny  England 
is,  compared  with  other  countries,  and  how  things  have 
gone  on  happening  there  every  minute  since  the  Phoenic- 
ians found  it  a  snug  little  island.  Its  chapters  of  history 
have  to  be  packed  like  sardines,  beginning  down,  down, 
far  deeper  than  Kipling's  "twelve  coffins." 

One  Surrey  village  telleth  another,  just  to  slip  through  in 
a  motor-car,  though  none  could  ever  be  tiresome  in  the 
telling;  but  if  one  stopped  to  hear  the  real  story  of  each  one, 
how  different  they  would  all  be!  There  would  be  grand 
chapters  of  fighting,  and  mysterious  chapters  of  smug- 
gling —  oh,  but  long  ones  about  smuggling,  since  most 
of  the  manors  and  half  the  old  cottages  have  "smugglers' 
rooms,"  where  the  lace  and  spirits  used  to  be  hidden,  in 
their  secret  journey  from  Portsmouth  to  London.  It 's 
difficult  to  believe  in  these  thrilling  chapters  now,  in  the 
rich,  placid  county,  where  the  only  mystery  floats  in  the 
veil  of  blue  mist  that  twists  like  a  gauze  scarf  around  the 
tree  trunks  in  the  woods,  and  the  only  black  spots  are  the 
dark  downs  in  the  distance,  with  the  sky  pale  gold  behind 
them. 

You  would  love  motoring,  not  only  for  what  you  do  see, 
but  for  what  you  nearly  see,  and  long  to  see,  but  can't  — 
just  as  Dad  used  to  say  "Thank  God  for  all  the  blessings 


92  SET  IN  SILVER 

I  've  never  had!"  Why,  every  road  you  don't  go  down 
looks  fantastically  alluring,  just  twice  as  alluring  as  the 
one  you  are  in.  You  grudge  missing  anything,  and  fear, 
greedily,  that  there  may  be  better  villages  with  more  his- 
tory beyond  the  line  of  your  route.  It 's  no  consolation 
when  Mrs.  Norton  says,  "Well,  you  can't  see  every- 
thing!" You  want  to  see  everything.  And  you  wish 
you  had  eyes  all  the  way  round  your  head.  It  would 
be  inconvenient  for  hair  and  hats,  but  you  could  manage 
somehow. 

We  had  to  go  through  Petworth,  a  most  feudal-looking 
old  place,  reeking  of  history  since  the  Confessor,  and  men- 
tioned in  the  Domesday  Book  (I  do  so  respect  towns  or 
houses  mentioned  in  the  Domesday  Book!),  and  if  it  had 
been  the  right  day  we  could  have  seen  Lord  Leconsfi eld's 
collection  of  pictures,  some  of  the  best  in  England;  but 
it  was  the  wrong  day,  so  we  sailed  on  out  of  Surrey  into 
Sussex,  and  arrived  at  Bignor. 

All  I  knew  about  Bignor  was  that  I  must  expect  some- 
thing amazing  there.  Sir  Lionel  asked  me  not  to  read 
about  it  in  the  books  of  which  we  have  a  travelling  library 
in  the  car  —  one  at  least  for  each  county  we  shall  visit. 
He  said  he  "wanted  Bignor  to  be  a  surprise"  for  me;  and 
it  is  odd  the  way  one  finds  oneself  obeying  that  man !  Not 
that  one  's  afraid  of  him,  but  —  well,  I  don't  know  why 
exactly,  but  one  just  does  it.  We  did  n't  stop  in  the  village, 
though  there  was  the  quaintest  grocery  shop  there  you  can 
imagine,  perfectly  mediaeval;  and  in  the  churchyard 
yew  trees  grand  enough  to  make  bows  for  half  the  archers 
of  England  —  if  there  were  any  in  these  days.  We  went 
on  to  quite  a  modern-looking  farmhouse,  and  Sir  Lionel 


SET  IN  SILVER  93 

said,  "I  am  going  to  ask  Mrs.  Tupper  if  she  will  give  us  a 
little  lunch.  If  she  says  'yes,'  it 's  sure  to  be  good." 

"I  don't  know  any  Tuppers,  Lionel,"  objected  Mrs. 
Norton.  "  Who  are  they  ?" 

"Relatives  of  Martin  Tupper,  if  that  name  recalls 
anything  to  your  mind,"  said  he. 

Mrs.  Norton  had  a  vague  idea  that  she  had  been  more 
or  less  brought  up  on  extracts  from  Martin  Tupper,  and 
seemed  to  associate  him  with  Sundays,  when,  as  a  child, 
she  had  n't  been  allowed  to  play.  But  that  did  n't 
explain  how  Lionel  happened  to  know  connections  of  his 
in  a  Sussex  farmhouse.  Besides,  he  could  n't  possibly 
have  seen  them  for  more  than  fifteen  years. 

"That  is  true,  and  I  only  saw  them  once,  even  then," 
he  admitted.  "But  Mrs.  Tupper  had  been  here  for  a  good 
many  years,  engaged  in  the  most  delightful  work,  which 
you  will  hear  about  by  and  by;  and  I  'm  sure  she  is  here 
still,  and  will  be  for  many  more  years  to  come,  because 
I  don't  want  to  imagine  the  place  without  her." 

Mrs.  Norton  said  no  more,  and  her  brother  knocked 
on  the  door  of  the  farmhouse,  which  stood  hospitably  open. 
In  a  minute,  a  dear  old  white-haired  lady  appeared,  and 
instantly  her  face  lighted  up. 

"Why,  if  it  is  n't  Mr.  Pendragon  —  I  mean  Sir  Lionel 
—  come  back  to  see  us  again!"  said  she. 

Sir  Lionel  grew  red  with  pleasure,  at  being  remem- 
bered by  her,  for  apparently  he  had  n't  at  all  expected  it. 
He  seems  to  forget  that  he  is  a  celebrity,  and  generally 
does  n't  like  being  reminded  of  the  fact,  but  he  was  pleased 
that  Mrs.  Tupper  had  read  about  him  in  the  papers  from 
time  to  time,  and  had  never  forgotten  his  face. 


94  SETINSILVER 

She  said  she  would  be  delighted  to  provide  us  with  lunch, 
if  we  did  n't  mind  a  simple  one;  and  then  she  would  have 
gone  on  to  say  something  which  would  have  given  the 
"surprise"  away,  if  Sir  Lionel  had  n't  stopped  her. 

We  had  delicious  country  things  to  eat,  with  real  Surrey 
cream  and  apple  dumplings.  They  did  taste  good  after 
the  elaborate  French  cooking  in  London,  by  way  of 
contrast!  Then,  when  we  had  finished,  Sir  Lionel  said, 
"Now,  Mrs.  Tupper,  can  you  take  us  for  a  stroll  round 
the  farm  ?" 

That  did  n't  sound  exciting,  did  it  ?  We  walked  out, 
and  it  seemed  a  very  nice  farm,  but  nothing  remarkable. 
As  we  wandered  toward  some  sheds,  in  a  field  of  man- 
golds, Sir  Lionel  made  us  look  up  at  a  big  hill,  and  said, 
"There  was  a  Roman  camp  there.  If  you  'd  stood  where 
you  stand  now,  on  a  quiet  night  in  those  times,  you  could 
have  heard  the  clanking  of  armour  or  the  soldiers  quar- 
relling over  their  dice.  Here  Roman  Stane  Street  ran, 
and  chariots  used  to  stop  to  bring  the  latest  news  from 
Rome  to  the  owner  of  the  villa." 

"Was  there  a  villa?"  asked  Mrs.  Norton,  who  thinks 
it  polite  to  ask  her  brother  questions,  whether  she  is  inter- 
ested or  not. 

"Let 's  take  a  look  into  this  shed,"  said  he,  by  way  of 
answer.  And,  there,  protected  by  that  rough  roof, 
was  a  great  stretch  of  splendid  mosaic  pavement. 
It  was  done  in  circular  compartments  of  ornamentation, 
and  in  one  was  a  beautiful  head  of  Ganymede  —  in 
another,  Winter.  Alas,  I  should  n't  have  known  what 
they  were  if  I  had  n't  been  told,  but  I  would  have  known 
that  they  were  rare  and  wonderful. 


SETINSILVER  95 

This  was  the  "surprise."  This  was  the  secret  of  Bignor; 
but  it  was  n't  nearly  all.  There  were  lovely  broken  pillars, 
and  lots  more  pavements,  acres  of  mosaic,  it  seemed; 
for  the  villa  had  been  large  and  important,  and  must  have 
been  built  by  a  rich  man  with  cultivated  taste.  He  knew 
how  to  make  exile  endurable,  did  that  Roman  gentleman ! 
Standing  in  his  dining-hall,  I  could  imagine  him  and  his 
fair  lady-wife  sitting  at  breakfast,  looking  out  from 
between  white,  glittering  pillars  at  the  Sussex  downs, 
grander  than  those  of  Surrey,  reminding  me  of  great, 
brave  shoulders  raised  to  protect  England.  Now  we 
knew  what  Mrs.  Tupper's  "  delightful  work"  was!  For 
forty-nine  years  she  has  cleaned  the  mosaic  pavement 
of  the  vanished  Roman  villa,  all  of  which  were  discovered 
by  the  grandfather  of  the  present  owner  of  the  farm. 
Never  once  has  she  tired  of  looking  at  the  mosaics, 
because,  as  she  explained  to  us,  "one  does  n't  tire  of  what 
is  beautiful."  There  speaks  true  appreciation,  does  n't  it  ? 
Only  a  born  lover  of  the  beautiful  could  have  said  that  so 
simply. 

There  was  an  Italian,  a  man  from  Venice,  repairing  the 
mosaic.  He  could  hardly  speak  a  word  of  English,  and 
beamed  with  a  sudden  smile  when  I  asked  him  some 
question  in  his  native  tongue.  We  talked  awhile,  and  I 
translated  several  things  he  said  to  Sir  Lionel  and  his 
sister.  I  'm  ashamed  to  confess,  dear,  that  I  was  pleased 
to  show  off  my  poor  little  accomplishment,  and  proud 
because  I  knew  one  thing  which  our  famous  man  did  n't. 
Was  n't  that  low  of  me  ? 

"Well,  you  were  n't  disappointed  in  my  surprise,  I 
think  ?"  said  Sir  Lionel,when  we  were  starting  away  at  last. 


96  SET  IN  SILVER 

I  just  gave  him  one  look.  It  really  was  n't  necessary 
to  answer. 

As  we  flashed  on,  through  country  always  exquisite, 
and  over  perfect  roads,  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  Bignor, 
until  suddenly,  after  passing  through  a  long  >aisle  of  great 
beeches,  like  an  avenue  in  a  private  park,  a  tremendous 
bulk  of  stone  looming  at  me  made  me  jump,  and  cry  out, 
"Oh!" 

Sir  Lionel  turned  his  head  long  enough  for  half  a 
smile.  "Arundel  Castle,"  he  said. 

It 's  lucky  for  me  that  Mrs.  Norton'  does  n't  know 
much  about  any  part  of  England  except  her  own 
home,  and  the  homes  of  her  particular  friends,  or 
else  she  would  always  be  explaining  things  to  me, 
and  I  should  hate  that.  It  would  be  like  having 
purple  hot-house  grapes  handed  out  to  one  impaled 
on  the  prongs  of  a  plated  silver  fork.  I  should  have 
wanted  to  slap  her,  if  she  had  told  me  I  was  looking 
at  Arundel  Castle,  but  I  was  grateful  to  her  brother 
for  the  information.  This  was  a  wickedness  in  me;  but 
if  you  knew  how  I  felt,  having  started  out  from  the  Ritz 
expecting  a  quiet  day's  run  through]  one  or  two  of  the 
garden  counties  of  England,  to  come  like  this,  bang  into 
the  midst  of  Roman  villas,  and  under  the  shadow  of  a 
tenth-century  castle-keep,  maybe  you  'd  excuse  my  morals 
for  being  upset. 

You  can't  have  centuries  roll  away,  like  a  mere  cloud 
of  dust  raised  by  your  motor,  and  be  perfectly  normal, 
can  you  ?  I  tried  to  seem  calm,  because  I  hate  to  be 
gushing  and  school-girlish  (for  Ellaline's  sake,  I  suppose, 
as  it  can't  make  any  difference  what  her  Dragon  thinks  of 


SETINSILVER  97 

me),  but  I  'm  pretty  sure  he  saw  that  I  was  rather  "out  of 
myself"  over  all  his  surprises. 

He  stopped  the  motor,  and  we  sat  for  a  long  time  gazing 
up  at  the  towers  beyond  the  green  and  silver  beeches  —  a 
pile  of  battlemented  stone,  looking  like  the  Middle  Ages 
carved  in  granite,  yet  more  habitable  to-day  than  ever 
before. 

We  had  lunched  early,  and  had  plenty  of  time,  so  we 
walked  through  the  park,  which  made  me  feel  that  England 
must  be  rather  big,  after  all,  to  have  room  for  thousands 
of  such  parks  —  even  much  larger  ones  —  and  all  its 
great  cities  —  and  miles  and  miles  of  farms  and  common 
land,  and  mere  "country." 

When  we  lived  in  New  York,  you  and  Dad  and  I,  we 
used  to  joke  about  the  way  we  should  feel  in  England  if 
we  should  ever  go  to  visit  Dad's  ancestral  Devonshire. 
We  used  to  pretend  that,  after  being  accustomed  to  the 
vast  distances  of  America,  we  should  be  afraid  of  tumbling 
off  the  edge  of  England;  but  so  far  I  find  that  I  don't 
dread  that  imminent  peril.  Just  now  England  seems 
so  vast  that  my  only  fear  is  I  may  n't  have  time  to  reach 
the  Roman  Wall. 

The  Duke's  midges  bit  us  a  good  deal,  in  the  park,  so 
we  did  n't  linger,  but  went  back  to  Apollo,  where  Young 
Nick's  remarkable  appearance  had  attracted  a  crowd  of 
boys  and  girls  from  Arundel  town.  They  stood  in  the 
road  gaping  at  him,  with  that  steady,  unblinking  stare 
English  children  and  French  grown-ups  have,  while  the 
brown  image  sat  motionless  in  the  car,  as  scornfully 
oblivious  of  his  critics  as  if  he  'd  been  the  idol  he  looked. 

Poor  Sir  Lionel  hates  the  attention  his  extraordinary 


98  SETINSILVER 

little  chauffeur  excites,  for,  in  spite  of  his  long  expatriation, 
he  loathes  being  conspicuous  in  any  way  as  heartily  as 
other  Englishmen  do.  But  (Mrs.  Norton  has  told  me)  he 
saved  Young  Nick  from  being  murdered  by  someone  who 
was  a  "family  enemy."  Since  then  —  it  was  when  Nick 
was  scarcely  more  than  a  child  —  the  brown  image  has 
worshipped  the  Dragon,  and  refused  to  be  separated 
from  him.  When  Sir  Lionel  proposed  providing  for  him 
well,  and  leaving  him  behind,  Nick  made  no  complaints, 
but  began  industriously  to  starve  himself  to  death.  So, 
of  course,  he  had  to  be  brought  to  England,  and  his  master 
just  makes  the  best  of  him,  costume,  features,  broomstick 
legs,  and  all. 

We  had  tea  in  a  picture  of  Turner's :  for  Littlehampton, 
with  its  tidal  river,  its  harbour  and  pier,  its  fishing  boats 
and  shining  sails,  its  windmill,  its  goldy-brown  sands, 
and  its  banked  violet  clouds,  was  a  genuine  Turner. 
Of  course,  he  would  n't  have  painted  the  Beach  Hotel, 
in  spite  of  its  nice  balconies,  but  we  were  glad  it  was  there, 
and  it  did  n't  spoil  the  picture. 

By  that  time,  it  was  nearly  half-past  five,  but  we  had 
hours  of  daylight  before  us,  so  we  stopped  for  a  look  at 
Climping  Church  (don't  you  love  the  "ing"  that  shows 
a  place  has  kept  its  Saxon  name  ?)  with  its  splendid  Norman 
doorway  and  queer,  long  windows,  shaped  like  open  pods 
of  peas  beautifully  ornamented  round  their  edges.  Thank 
goodness,  there  was  nothing  "perp"  about  it!  I  get  so 
tired  of  "perp"  things  in  guide  books. 

Slinden  we  glanced  at,  too,  a  most  idyllic  village,  gar- 
risoned with  the  noblest  beeches  I  ever  saw.  Hilaire 
Belloc,  whose  "  Path  to  Rome  "  we  liked  so  much,  stayed 


SET  IN  SILVER  99 

at  Slinden,  writing  delightful  things  about  Sussex.  I 
mean  to  get  and  read  all  I  can,  because,  even  in  the  glimpse 
I  've  had,  I  can  see  that  Sussex  has  a  character,  as  well  as 
a  charm,  individually  its  own.  The  Downs  give  it,  and 
make  you  feel  that  a  true  man  of  Sussex  would  be  frank, 
warm-hearted,  simple  and  brave,  with  old-fashioned  ways 
which,  with  a  pleasant  obstinacy,  he  would  be  loath  to 
change.  I  heard  Mrs.  Tupper  quote  two  or  three  quaint 
proverbs  which  were  new  to  me,  but  Sir  Lionel  said  they 
were  old,  almost,  as  the  Sussex  downs,  and  as  racy  of  the 
soil.  I  always  associated  Brighton  with  Sussex,  which 
made  it  seem  a  sophisticated  county:  but  you  see,  true 
Sussex  — the  Downs  — stands  all  independent  and  sturdy, 
between  the  pleasure-places  by  the  sea  and  the  snug 
Weald. 

The  faces  we  passed  did  n't  look  like  faces  descended 
from  smugglers,  they  seemed  so  kind  and  good;  but  then, 
of  course,  smuggling  was  quite  a  respectable  industry  in 
Sussex,  where  the  secretive  formation  of  the  coast  clearly 
showed  that  Providence  had  meant  it  to  epict.  I  love  the 
Sussex  downs,  I  like  the  Sussex  faces,  and  I  admire  the 
Sussex  church  spires  —  tall  and  pointed,  covered  with 
lichened  shingles. 

We  stopped  at  Boxgrove,  too,  a  church  adored  by 
architects ;  and  as  we  went  our  way  to  Goodwood  the  sea 
was  a  torn  sheet  of  silver  seen  behind  great  downs  which 
the  afternoon  sun  was  gilding.  Oh, the  Lebanon  cedars  and 
the  views  of  Goodwood!  If  I  were  there  for  the  races,  I 
think  not  even  the  finest  horses,  the  most  beautiful  women, 
and  the  prettiest  frocks  in  England  could  hold  my  eyes 
long  from  that  view.  I  can  shut  my  eyes  now  —  the  day 


100  SET  IN  SILVER 

after  —  and  see  those  Lebanon  cedars  black  against 
an  opal  sky.  Another  picture  I  can  see,  too,  is  Bosham 
Church,  standing  up  tall  and  pure  as  a  gray  nun  singing 
an  Ave  Maria  beside  the  clear  water.  It  comes  back  to 
me  from  my  studies  of  English  history  that  Vespasian  had 
a  villa  there,  and  that  Harold  sailed  from  Bosham.  Do 
you  know,  he  's  in  the  act  of  doing  it  on  the  Bayeux 
tapestry?  Once,  the  Danes  stole  the  Bosham  church 
bells,  and  the  dear  things  still  ring  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea, 
because  the  robber  ship  was  wrecked,  and  went  down 
with  the  chime,  in  mid  channel.  I  like  that  story.  It 
matches  the  picture  and  the  tapestry. 

Our  day  stopped  at  Chichester,  and  my  letter  must  stop, 
too,  for  all  this  I  tell  you  of  was  only  yesterday.  We 
arrived  last  evening,  and  now  it 's  nearly  midnight  of  the 
next  day.  I  began  to  write  just  after  dinner,  sitting  in  my 
dear  old-fashioned  room,  and  if  I  don't  soon  say  good-night 
I  shan't  get  much  beauty  sleep.  To-morrow  morning,  at 
half-past  nine,  we  're  going  on;  but  before  we  start  I  '11 
scribble  a  Chichester  postscript.  So  you  see,  I  must  be  up 
bright  and  early,  especially  as  I  mean  to  fly  out  for  one 
more  glimpse  of  the  cathedral  —  though  I  spent  most  of 
this  afternoon  in  it. 

I  wonder  if  you  are  sparing  a  few  minutes  to-night  to 

dream  of  ,T  . 

YOUR  ATJDRIE  ? 

P.  S. —  Eight -twenty  in  the  morning,  and  I  've  been  up 
for  two  hours. 

You  'd  like  Chichester  immensely.  I  don't  say  "love," 
for  it  hasn't  engaged  my  affections,  somehow;  but  I  do 
love  the  beautiful  jewel  of  a  market  cross,  and  some  of 


SET  IN  SILVER  101 

the  tombs  in  the  cathedral.  The  cross  is  quite  a  baby 
compared  with  lots  of  others,  it  seems,  being  only  just  born 
at  the  time  Henry  VIII.  was  cutting  off  pretty  ladies'  heads 
when  he  had  tired  of  their  hearts.  Several  tombs  are 
so  lovely,  you  almost  want  to  be  dead,  and  have  one  as 
like  as  possible;  but,  though  part  of  the  cathedral  is  satis- 
fyingly  old  (eleventh  century),  its  new  spire  reminds  one  of 
a  badly  chosen  hat,  and  the  whole  building  somehow 
looks  cold  and  dull,  like  a  person  with  a  magnificent 
profile  who  never  says  anything  illuminating. 

As  for  Chichester  itself,  except  the  market  cross,  the  only 
thing  that  has  touched  my  heart  was  St.  Mary's  Hospital, 
surely  the  quaintest  old  almshouse  on  earth.  The  town 
has  rather  a  self -conceited  air  to  me,  and  unless  one  were 
wise,  one  might  n't  realize  without  being  informed  that 
it 's  immemorably  old.  Of  course,  though,  if  one  were 
wise,  one  would  know  the  Romans  had  had  a  hand  in  the 
making  or  re-making  of  it,  because  of  the  geometric, 
regular  way  in  which  it 's  built.  Sir  Lionel  Pendragon 
told  me  that.  He  seems  to  remember  all  he  ever  learned, 
whereas  ever  so  many  little  bundles  are  already  knocking 
about  in  dusty  corners  of  my  brain,  with  their  labels  lost. 

There  could  n't  be  a  more  thrilling  road  than  the  road 
along  which  we  came  to  Chichester,  and  by  which  we  will 
leave  it  in  a  few  minutes  now.  Think  of  Roman  Stane 
Street,  and  listen  for  the  rumble  of  ghostly  chariot  wheels ! 
Then  —  if  you  5ve  not  come  this  way  for  Goodwood  races 
—  you  can  throw  your  mind  a  little  further  ahead  to  the 
days  of  the  crusaders  and  the  pilgrims;  and  to  kings'  pro- 
cessions glittering  with  gold  and  glossy  with  velvets;  to 
armies  on  their  way_to  fight;  and  further  ahead,  to  coaches 


102  SET  IN  SILVER 

plying  along  the  Portsmouth  road.  I  wonder  how  many 
people  in  the  hundreds  of  motors  that  flash  back  and  forth 
each  day  do  think  of  it  all?  I  pity  those  who  don't, 
because  they  lose  a  thought  that  might  embroider  their 
world  with  rich  colours. 

P.P.S. —  I  met  Sir  Lionel,  accidentally,  of  course,  in  the 
cathedral  this  morning,  where  he,  too,  was  saying  good- 
bye to  the  most  fascinating  of  the  old  tombs.  And  was  n't 
it  odd,  we  had  the  same  favourites?  They  looked  even 
nicer  and  queerer  than  yesterday,  with  no  Mrs.  Norton 
to  spatter  inappropriate  remarks  about. 

We  walked  back  to  the  hotel  together,  and  he  asked  me, 
just  as  we  were  coming  in,  whether  my  allowance  was 
enough,  or  would  I  like  to  have  more  ? 

I  had  burst  out  that  it  was  heaps,  before  I  stopped  to 
realize  that  he  was  asking  that  question  really  of  Ellaline, 
not  of  me.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  temporized,  and  said 
I  would  make  up  my  mind  in  a  few  days — meanwhile 
writing  to  her.  I  suppose  she  must  be  quite  an  heiress; 
but  he  can't  be  as  mercenary  as  she  thinks,  or  he  would  n't 
have  made  such  a  suggestion. 

I  'm  called !  The  motor  's  ready.  I  '11  post  this  from 
the  hotel. 


IX 
AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Southsea,  July  Wth 

DEAREST:  This  address  is  n't  part  of  our  plan  of  cam- 
paign. We  'd  meant  to  pass  through,  after  pausing  on  the 
way  just  long  enough  to  see  Portsmouth  Harbour,  and 
Dickens's  birthplace;  but  we  've  stopped  here  on  my 
account,  and  now  I  wish  we  had  n't.  I  '11  tell  you  why, 
in  a  minute;  but  if  I  don't  mention  a  few  other  things  first, 
they  '11  be  crowded  out,  and  I  shall  forget  them. 

After  we  'd  seen  the  birthplace,  and  were  seeing  the 
harbour,  Sir  Lionel  asked  if  I  'd  care  to  go  on  board  a 
man-o'-war.  Of  course,  my  answer  was  "Yes";  and  he 
said  there  was  an  old  friend  of  his  whom  he  would  like  to 
see,  Captain  Starlin,  of  the  Thunderer,  so  he  'd  ask  for  an 
invitation. 

He  scribbled  things  in  pencil  on  a  visiting-card,  and  sent 
it  on  board  the  big  gray  monster,  by  a  nice  low-necked 
sailor.  Of  course,  the  invitation  which  came  back  was 
most  cordial,  and  even  Mrs.  Norton  appeared  pleased  with 
the  idea  of  going  over  the  ship.  We  were  received  by  the 
Captain  himself  —  rather  a  young-looking  man,  whose 
complexion  seemed  to  have  slipped  down,  like  Sir  Lionel's, 
both  their  foreheads  being  quite  white,  and  the  rest  of  their 
faces  tanned  brown.  He  took  us  everywhere,  showing  us 
103 


104  SET  IN  SILVER 

interesting  things,  and  presently  said  that,  not  only  must 
we  dine  with  him  that  evening,  but  must  stay  to  a  dance 
that  was  to  be  given  on  board  afterward. 

"Oh,  many  thanks,  but  we  're  only  motoring  through, 
and  go  on  this  afternoon,"  began  Sir  Lionel.  Then  he 
stopped  short,  and  looked  at  me.  "Would  you  like  to 
dance?"  he  asked. 

"She  hasn't  anything  to  wear,  if  she  would,"  Mrs. 
Norton  answered  for  me.  "You  were  so  strict  about 
luggage,  we  've  only  two  evening  dresses  apiece,  plain 
things  for  hotel  dinners,  nothing  at  all  suitable  to  a  dance." 

"Did  n't  you  buy  her  anything  good  enough  for  dances 
that  day  in  Bond  Street?"  snapped  the  Dragon. 

"  You  bought  her  several  things  almost  too  good  for 
dances,  at  her  age,"  retaliated  the  Dragon's  sister,  but  only 
in  a  gentle  coo.  "They  're  left  at  the  Ritz,  awaiting 
instructions  to  go  on  to  Graylees,  with  most  of  our  things, 
and  will  probably  be  all  beggars'  creases  before  she  has  a 
chance  to  wear  them." 

"She  shall  have  a  chance  to  wear  any  or  all  of  them 
to-night,  if  she  wants  to  dance,"  said  Sir  Lionel. 

"Of  course  she  wants  to  dance,"  chimed  in  Captain 
Starlin.  "  Did  you  ever  see  a  young  lady  who  did  n't  want 
to  dance,  especially  on  a  man-o'-war?" 

"Do  you  want  to  ?"  repeated  the  Dragon. 

Between  them  I  was  quite  dashed,  and  murmured 
something  non-committal  about  its  being  very  nice,  if  it 
had  been  convenient,  but 

"There  is  no  'but,'  "  said  Ellaline's  guardian.  "That 
settles  it.  We  stop  the  night  in  Southsea,  where  there  's 
no  doubt  a  good  hotel;  and  I  will  send  someone  immedi- 


SET  IN  SILVER  105 

ately  to  the  Ritz  for  your  boxes,  Emily  —  and  yours."  He 
never  calls  me  by  name  if  he  can  help  it. 

Emily  was  inclined  to  object  that  it  would  be  foolish  to 
send,  and  we  did  n't  want  all  our  things  anyway,  till  her 
brother  gave  her  a  look  —  not  cross,  but  —  well,  just  one 
of  his  looks  that  make  you  do  things,  or  stop  doing  them, 
whichever  he  pleases;  and  she  did  n't  say  any  more. 

I  can't  help  rather  liking  his  masterful  ways,  though 
they  're  old-fashioned  now  that  we  're  all  supposed  to 
think  we  need  votes  more  than  frocks;  but  this  time  it 
really  would  have  been  ungrateful  of  me  to  disapprove,  as 
the  whole  fuss  was  being  made  for  me.  And  I  was  dying 
to  go  to  the  dance! 

We  went  quickly  back  to  the  motor,  spun  into  Southsea, 
and  before  the  female  contingent  knew  exactly  what  was 
happening  to  it,  rooms  were  engaged  for  the  night,  and  a 
"responsible  person  "  despatched  by  the  first  train  to  town, 
with  a  letter  demanding  certain  articles  of  our  luggage. 

I  was  quite  excited  about  the  evening,  but  outwardly 
was  "more  than  usual  calm,"  as  we  wandered  here  and 
there,  after  luncheon,  seeing  Southsea  —  which  must,  by 
the  way,  be  a  most  convenient  place  for  girls,  as  they  can 
choose  between  Navy  and  Army,  or  play  with  both  if  they 
are  pretty  enough.  Just  as  we  were  going  to  have  a  run  out 
to  Hayling  Island  in  the  car,  whom  should  we  meet  in  the 
street,  close  to  our  hotel,  but  Mrs.  Senter  and  Dick  Burden. 

She  was  looking  very  fetching  and  young,  almost  like 
a  girl,  certainly  as  unlike  an  aunt  as  possible.  And, 
mother,  I  know  it  was  n't  an  accident.  I  don't  mean  about 
her  being  an  aunt,  of  course,  but  being  in  Southsea  and 
meeting  us. 


106  SET  IN  SILVER 

The  day  she  called,  in  London,  when  Sir  Lionel  was  in 
Warwickshire,  I  heard  her  asking  Mrs.  Norton  questions 
about  our  route;  and  when  dear  Emily  mentioned  Win- 
chester, she  said,  "Oh,  won't  you  be  passing  through 
Southsea  ?N" 

Mrs.  Norton  answered  in  her  vague  little  way  that  she 
was  sure  she  did  n't  know.  Then  Mrs.  Senter  went  on  to 
say  that  she  and  Dick  were  invited  to  stay  at  a  house  near 
Southsea,  and  she  thought  they  would  probably  accept. 
Perhaps,  if  they  did,  we  might  meet.  But,  as  I  wrote  you, 
I  thought  it  more  likely  we  would  n't,  unless  Sir  Lionel 
should  seem  keen  when  he  heard;  and  he  didn't.  He 
apparently  took  no  interest  whatever  when  his  sister 
repeated  the  conversation  to  him  next  day. 

Well,  I  'm  sure  Mrs.  Senter  made  up  her  mind  to  accept 
her  friend's  invitation  (even  if  she  did  n't  ask  for  one) 
.  the  minute  she  found  out  that  we  were  likely  soon  to  pass 
Southsea.  She  must  have  known  we  would  be  sure  to 
stop  for  a  look  round  Portsmouth  and  the  neighbourhood, 
and  thought  the  chance  worth  taking.  If  she  had  n't,  she 
would  have  stopped  in  London  till  the  end  of  the  season,  no 
doubt,  for  she  's  the  kind  of  person  who  lives  for  Society, 
and  only  cares  for  the  country  when  it 's  the  fashion  to  be 
in  it. 

I  would  n't  be  a  bit  surprised  if  she  'd  been  patrolling 
the  streets  of  Portsmouth  and  Southsea  for  a  day  or  two, 
in  the  hope  of  running  across  us  sooner  or  later.  Or,  as 
Dick  Burden  fancies  himself  in  the  part  of  a  detective, 
perhaps  he  hit  upon  some  surer  way  of  getting  at  us. 

Those  two,  aunt  and  nephew,  play  into  each  other's 
hands  beautifully.  Mamma,  it  seems,  is  visiting  in  Scot- 


SET  IN  SILVER  107 

land  at  the  moment,  so  they  hunt  in  couples.  How  long 
"Aunt  Gwen"  has  been  a  widow  the  saints  may  know; 
I  don't  —  but  anyway  she  has  begun  to  "take  notice," 
as  people  say  about  bright  little  babies.  She  has  looked 
up  Sir  Lionel  in  Debrett,  and  marked  him  with  a  red  cross 
for  her  own,  I  believe.  Such  impudence!  A  woman  like 
that,  to  dare  think  of  trying  to  grab  a  man  of  his  position 
and  record !  She  ought  to  know  how  unsuitable  she  would 
be  for  him. 

As  for  Dick,  of  course  he  wants  to  flirt  with  me;  but  wait 
—  wait  till  you  hear  the  latest  developments. 

Sir  Lionel  seemed  neither  pleased  nor  displeased  at  the 
meeting,  but  he  could  not  have  suspected  it  was  more  than 
an  accident,  for  he  remarked  that  it  was  odd  we  should  run 
up  against  each  other  like  this! 

Mrs.  Senter  said  yes,  indeed,  it  was,  she  was  never  more 
surprised  in  her  life,  though  really  it  would  have  been  odd, 
when  one  came  to  think  of  it,  if  we  had  n't  met,  since  she 
and  Dick  were  stopping  with  friends  on  Hayling  Island, 
and  were  con  >tantly  in  Southsea. 

"Do  let  mi  write  a  note  to  my  friend  Captain  Starlin, 
and  get  you  all  invitations  to  the  Thunderer  dance 
to-night,"  she  tacked  on  to  the  tail  of  her  explanation. 

"He's  an  old  friend  of  mine,  too,"  said  Sir  Lionel, 
"and  we  've  not  only  invitations  already,  but  have 
accepted  them,  and  sent  for  my  sister's  and  Miss  Leth- 
bridge's  clothes." 

Her  face  fell  a  little  for  an  instant  when  she  heard  we  'd 
sent  for  clothes,  as  probably  Emily  and  I  would  have 
suited  her  better  in  our  worst  things;  but  she  brightened 
up  and  said  how  pleased  she  was,  because  she  and  Dick 


108  SET  IN  SILVER 

were  both  going,  and  now  they  would  really  look 
forward  to  the  dance;  Dick  had  been  bored  with  the  idea 
before. 

Well,  the  boxes  came  in  good  time,  and  the  Bond  Street 
darlings  were  n't  crushed  in  the  least,  because  I  had  put 
them  to  bed  so  nicely  with  sheets  and  pillows  of  tissue 
paper.  I  decided  to  wear  a  pink  chiffon,  with  tiny  button 
roses  laid  like  a  dainty  frame  all  round  the  low  neck  and 
where  the  sleeves  ought  to  have  been  but  were  n't.  The 
chiffon  's  embroidered  with  roses  to  match.  Can  you 
imagine  me  in  such  a  dream  ?  I  can't.  But  it  suits  me, 
rather.  I  wore  pink  shoes  and  stockings  and  gloves,  all 
of  the  same  shade,  and  poor  Emily  in  gray  silk,  with  her 
hair  done  in  an  aggressively  virtuous  way,  looked  like  a 
cross  between  an  Anglican  nun  and  a  tourist  economizing 
luggage.  Yet  she  would  n't  have  been  shocked  if  her 
brother  'd  had  a  harem  in  Bengal,  because  it  was  "good 
form."  But  of  course,  as  she  says,  one  is  obliged  to  excuse 
things  in  men. 

It  was  very  amusing  having  dinner  in  the  Captain's 
room,  which  was  large  and  quite  charming,  with  curtains 
and  frilly  silk  cushions,  and  heaps  of  framed,  signed 
photographs,  and  books,  almost  as  if  a  woman  had 
arranged  it.  But  he  told  us  one  felt  the  motion  there, 
more  than  anywhere  else,  in  a  storm;  which  must 
be  some  consolation  to  the  "middies"  who  have  to 
work  for  years  before  they  can  ever  hope  for  such  luxu- 
rious quarters. 

Mrs.  Senter  and  Dick  were  n't  at  dinner,  which  was  one 
comfort.  Besides  ourselves,  there  were  only  the  Captain's 
married  sister,  who  had  come  from  town  for  the  dance,  and 


SETINSILVER  109 

her  husband.  The  husband  's  an  earl  —  Lord  Knares- 
brook;  rather  old;  but  Lady  Knaresbrook  is  young, 
frightfully  pretty,  and  knows  it.  She  flirted  fascinatingly 
at  dinner  with  Sir  Lionel;  not  as  Mrs.  Senter  flirts,  flicker- 
ing her  eyelashes,  saying  smart  things  as  if  to  amuse  him 
alone,  and  hang  everyone  else!  —  but  just  looking  at  him, 
with  gorgeous,  starry  eyes;  asking  a  question  now  and 
then,  and  listening  with  all  her  soul.  I  'm  not  sure  it 
is  n't  an  equally  effective  way,  especially  when  done  in  a 
diamond  tiara  by  a  countess  under  twenty-five.  I  should 
quite  have  enjoyed  watching  it  if  Sir  Lionel  had  been  a 
stranger,  but  knowing  him  somehow  made  me  feel  'pon 
honour  not  to  look,  and  rather  restless.  I  do  believe  that, 
compared  with  some  of  these  men,  who  've  been  at  the 
other  end  of  the  world  for  years  doing  important  political 
things,  Samson  with  his  hair  all  cropped  off  was  adamant 
to  Lovely  Woman! 

Naturally,  I  had  to  have  something  to  look  at,  and  I 
could  n't  look  at  Lord  Knaresbrook  because  the  shape  of 
his  nose  worried  me;  and  anyhow  he  wanted  to  talk  to 
Emily  about  people  they  both  knew.  Such  exciting  bits 
as  this  floated  to  my  ears :  "Ah,  yes,  he  was  the  great-grand- 
son of  Lord  This.  She  married  the  Duke  of  That's 
second  cousin."  So  I  looked  a  good  deal  at  Captain  Star- 
lin,  and  he  looked  at  me  and  not  at  very  much  else,  which 
was  quite  easy,  the  most  important  lady  being  his  own 
sister,  who  took  the  place  of  hostess;  so  Mrs.  Norton  was 
on  his  right  and  I  on  his  left.  As  he  was  our  host,  and 
evidently  wanted  to  flirt  a  little,  I  thought  it  my  duty  to 
gratify  his  wish,  and  played  up  to  him.  That  was  quite 
right,  was  n't  it  ?  I  'm  sure  you  '11  say  yes,  as  you  are  a 


110  SET  IN  SILVER 

Parisienne,  and  have  brought  me  up  to  do  unto  others  as 
I  would  be  done  by.  But  several  times  I  happened  to 
catch  Sir  Lionel's  eyes,  and  they  had  a  gloomy  glint  in 
them;  not  angry,  but  as  if  he  'd  discovered  a  screw  loose 
in  me.  I  felt  as  uncomfortable  as  you  do  with  a  smudge 
on  your  nose,  which  you  see  in  shop-window  mirrors 
when  you  've  forgotten  your  handkerchief;  but  it  was 
too  late  to  change  my  behaviour  suddenly,  so  I  went  on 
as  I  had  begun. 

We  mere  female's  did  n't  leave  the  men  at  the  table, 
perhaps  because  there  was  n't  any  place  where  it  would 
have  been  proper  for  us  to  wander  unmanned.  We  sat  for 
hours,  and  Lady  Knaresbrook  smoked,  and  wanted  us  to 
smoke,  though  of  course  she  must  have  known  that  no 
woman  with  her  hair  done  like  Emily's  would.  Emily 
looked  shocked,  but  just  pressed  in  her  lips,  and  did  n't 
disapprove  out  aloud,  as  she  might  if  Lady  Knaresbrook 
had  been  plain  "Mrs."  But  afterward  she  told  me  she 
was  now  ready  to  believe  "all  they  say"  about  Diana 
Knaresbrook.  Just  because  she  smoked!  Mrs.  Norton 
could  find  immorality  in  a  hard-boiled  egg  if  she  looked 
for  it. 

At  last  we  went  above,  or  whatever  you  call  it  on  a  ship, 
and  everything  had  been  made  beautiful  with  flags  and 
bunting;  but  nothing  was  as  beautiful  as  those  sailor  men 
themselves,  especially  the  middies.  I  felt  like  their  mother 
(I  hope  that 's  not  unmaidenly  ?)  and  should  have  loved 
to  smooth  their  hair  and  pat  them  on  the  cheek  —  of 
which,  by  the  way,  they  had  plenty! 

A  good  many  were  introduced  to  me;  and  Dick  brought 
his  aunt  very  early,  because,  he  said,  he  did  n't  want  to 


SET  IN  SILVER  111 

find  all  my  dances  gone.  You  can  believe  I  had  n't  saved 
any  for  him!  But  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  kept  back  two, 
thinking  Sir  Lionel  might  ask  me;  for  after  his  many 
kindnesses  I  should  n't  have  liked  to  seem  not  to  want  to 
dance  with  him,  you  see.  When  he  did  n't  ask  at  first, 
I  supposed  it  might  be  because  he  was  n't  a  dancing  man 
(horrid  expression !  —  sounds  like  a  trained  bear) ;  but 
presently  I  saw  him  waltzing  with  Lady  Knaresbrook;  and 
he  danced  beautifully,  as  if  he  'd  done  nothing  else  all  those 
years  in  Bengal.  Then  I  said  to  myself:  "He  's  vexed 
with  me  because  he  thinks  I  behaved  badly  at  dinner,  and 
perhaps  I  did."  And  I  almost  hoped  he  would  suggest 
sitting  out  a  dance,  so  that  we  could  talk. 

But  then  Dick  came;  and  when  he  found  I  had  two 
dances,  he  wanted  them  both.  "There  are  things  I  must 
tell  you,"  he  said.  And,  mother,  it 's  easy  to  see  that  the 
creature  has  some  talent  as  a  detective,  because  he  guessed 
at  once  why  I  'd  been  saving  those  dances. 

"  It 's  no  good  keeping  anything  up  your  sleeve  for 
Pendragon,"  said  he,  in  his  perky  way,  as  if  he  were  on  an 
equality  with  the  ex-Lieutenant-Governor  of  East  Bengal. 
"He  won't  ask  you  to  dance.  He  thinks  you  're  a  little 
girl,  and  is  leaving  you  to  little  boys,  like  me,  which  is 
quite  right.  The  only  woman  he  's  ever  taken  any  interest 
in  for  the  last  fifteen  years  is  Aunt  Gwen.  And  you  can't 
say  he  does  n't  show  good  taste." 

I  could  n't,  especially  as  Mrs.  Senter  was  looking  like 
the  heroine  of  a  novel  which  you  'd  be  sure  to  forbid  my 
reading;  so  I  gave  him  the  dances,  partly  for  that  reason 
and  partly  because  I  was  cowardly  enough  to  want  to  hear 
what  he  had  to  tell.  Just  at  the  moment  he  could  n't  say 


112  SET  IN  SILVER 

more,  though,  because  a  sweet  brown  lamb  of  a  middy 
came  and  whirled  me  away.  So  it  went  on  for  half  the 
evening,  until  it  was  nearly  time  for  Dick  Burden's  first 
dance,  and  I  was  sitting  down  to  breathe  (after  a  furious 
galop,  which  did  n't  go  at  all  well  with  a  Directoire  dress), 
beside  Mrs.  Norton,  who  had  the  air  of  thinking  a  ball- 
room a  sort  of  pound  for  lost  souls. 

Up  came  Sir  Lionel  as  if  to  speak  to  her,  and  —  I  don't 
know  what  made  me  do  it  —  I  said,  "I  saved  a  dance  for 
you,  but  you  never  asked  me  for  it,  so  I  gave  it  to 
someone  else." 

His  face  got  red.  Perhaps  he  thought  I  was  lecturing 
him  for  being  rude. 

"Did  you  give  it  to  Starlin  ?"  he  asked,  bluntly. 

"No.  I  've  had  mine  with  Captain  Starlin.  To  Mr. 
Burden,"  said  I. 

"Do  you  want  to  dance  it  with  him?" 

"Not  at  all." 

"  Chuck  him,  then,  and  dance  it  with  me.  I  should  like 
to  talk  to  you." 

"That 's  what  he  said." 

"Do  you  want  to  hear  what  he  's  got  to  say  ?" 

(Well,  you  know,  dear,  I  had  wanted  to;  but  suddenly 
I  felt  as  if  Dick  did  n't  matter  more  than  a  fly,  nor  did  any 
one  else  except  the  person  I  was  talking  to.  You  do  feel 
like  that  with  these  quiet,  masterful  sort  of  people,  whether 
you  care  for  them  or  not.  It 's  just  a  kind  of  momentary 
hypnotism;  or,  at  least,  that 's  the  definition  I  've  been 
giving  myself.) 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  what  he  's  got  to  say,"  my  hypno- 
tized Me  answered,  in  the  queer,  abrupt  way  in  which  we 


SET  IN  SILVER  113 

had  begun  snapping  out  little  short  sentences  to  each  other. 
"I  'm  sure  he  could  n't  say  anything  really  interesting." 

"Don't  you  like  Dick  Burden ?" 

"Not  much." 

"Then  the  dance  is  mine.     Which  is  it?" 

"The  next.  Here  he  comes  now.  I  see  the  top  of  his 
head,  over  the  shoulder  of  that  youth  with  the  collar  of  a 
curate  and  the  face  of  a  convict." 

The  Dragon  smiled  benevolently  at  my  wicked  descrip- 
tion of  a  comparatively  inoffensive  person,  and  whisked 
me  off. 

"Are  you  offended  with  me?"  I  asked,  as  we  waltzed 
a  weird  but  heavenly  Hungarian  waltz  (made  in  Germany). 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that  ?  "  he  wanted  to  know. 

"Because  you  looked  offended  at  dinner.  What  had  I 
done  ?  Eaten  something  with  the  wrong  fork  ?  " 

"You  had  done  nothing  I  oughtn't  to  have  been  pre- 
pared to  see  you  do." 

"  What  ought  you  to  be  prepared  to  see  me  do  ?  " 

"  It  does  n't  matter  now." 

"  It  does.  If  you  don't  tell  me,  I  shall  scream  '  Murder ' 
at  the  top  of  my  lungs,  and  then  you  '11  have  to  speak." 

"  I  certainly  would  n't.     I  'd  bundle  you  home  at  once." 

"  I  have  n't  got  any  home." 

"My  home  is  yours,  till  you  marry." 

"Or  you  do." 

"Don't  talk  nonsense."  (He  was  probably  going  to 
say  "Tommy-rot"  but  considered  such  striking  words 
unfit  for  the  ear  of  a  debutante.  This  was  my  debut,  I 
suppose?  My  very  first  ball.) 

"Then  tell  me  what  you  were  unprepared  for  in  me." 


114  SET  IN  SILVER 

"I  was  prepared  for  it  at  first,  before  I  saw  you. 
But " 

"What?" 

"Well,  if  you  will  have  it,  for  your  flirting." 

Suddenly  I  felt  impish,  and  said,  innocently,  that  I 
supposed  it  was  what  girls  came  on  board  men  -o'- war  to 
do,  so  I  had  only  done  my  best  to  please.  By  this  time 
we  'd  stopped  dancing,  and  were  sitting  down.  I  'd 
forgotten  Dick  Burden. 

"  It  all  depends  upon  the  point  of  view,"  he  answered, 
with  rather  a  disgusted  air. 

"My  point  of  view  is,"  said  I,  gravely,  " that  soldiers 
as  well  as  sailors  should  approve  of  flirting,  because 
flirtation  is  a  warlike  act;  a  short  incursion  into  the 
enemy's  country,  with  the  full  intention  of  getting  back 
untouched." 

"Ah,  but  what  of  the  enemy  ?"  suggested  the  Dragon. 

"  He  can  always  take  care  of  himself  on  such  incursions." 

"  So  that 's  the  theory  ?  And  at  nineteen  you  have 
enlisted  in  that  army?" 

"What  army?" 

"The  great  army  of  flirts." 

I  could  n't  keep  it  up  any  longer,  for  I  had  really  started 
in  to  explain,  not  to  joke.  And  you  know,  dear,  that 
flirting  as  a  profession  would  n't  be  in  my  line  at  all. 

"Do  I  look  like  a  flirt?"  I  asked. 

"No.  You  don't,"  said  he.  "  And  I  was  beginning  to 
hope " 

"  Please  go  on  hoping,  then,"  I  said.  "  Because  I  did  n't 
want  to  behave  badly.  If  I  did,  it  was  because  I  don't 
quite  know  the  game  yet.  And  I  wanted  to  tell  you  that 


SETINSILVER  115 

I  did  n't  really  mean  to  be  silly  and  schoolgirlish,  and 
disgrace  you  and  Mrs.  Norton." 

Then  it  was  his  turn  to  apologize,  and  he  did  it 
thoroughly.  He  said  that  I  had  n't  been  silly,  and  so 
far  from  disgracing  him,  he  was  proud  of  me  —  "  proud 
of  his  ward."  It  was  only  that  I  seemed  so  much  more 
womanly  and  companionable  than  he  'd  expected,  that  he 
could  n't  bear  to  see  in  me,  or  think  he  saw,  any  like- 
ness whatever  to  inferior  types  of  woman.  Whereupon 
I  had  the  impertinence  to  ask  why  he  'd  expected  me  to  be 
inferior;  but  the  only  explanation  I  could  get  him  to  make 
was  that  he  did  n't  know  much  about  girls.  Which  he 
had  remarked  before. 

We  'd  sat  out  two  dances  before  we  —  I  mean  I  —  knew 
it;  and  nobody  had  dared  to  come  near  us,  because  a 
middy  can't  very  well  snatch  a  partner  out  of  a  celebrity's 
pocket.  And  Dick,  too,  though  he  seems  to  have  the 
courage  of  most  of  his  convictions,  drew  the  line  at  that. 
But  suddenly  I  did  remember.  I  smiled  at  a  hovering 
laddie  with  the  most  smoothly  polished  hair  you  ever  saw, 
just  like  a  black  helmet;  and  when  the  laddie  had  swung 
me  away  in  the  Merry  Widow  waltz  Sir  Lionel  went  back 
to  Mrs.  Senter.  Rather  an  appropriate  air  for  her  to 
dance  to,  I  thought.  I  do  pray  I  'm  not  getting  kitten- 
catty  ?  Anyhow,  I  'm  not  in  my  second  kittenhood ! 

You  will  be  wondering  by  this  time  why  I  'm  sorry  we 
stayed  at  Southsea,  when  it  was  all  for  me,  and  I  seem  to 
have  been  having  the  "time  of  my  life."  But  I'm 
coming  to  the  part  you  want  to  know  about. 

I  thought  perhaps  Dick  Burden  would  be  vexed  at  my 
going  off  with  Sir  Lionel,  under  his  nose,  just  as  he  was 


116  SETINSILVER 

ready  to  say  "my  dance."  However,  he  walked  up  to 
me  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  when  it  was  time  for  the 
second,  so  I  did  n't  apologize.  I  thought  it  best  to  let  sleep- 
ing partners  lie. 

We  danced  a  little,  but  Dick,  who  is  one-and -twenty, 
does  n't  waltz  half  as  well  as  Sir  Lionel,  who  is  forty;  and 
he  saw  that  I  thought  so.  Presently  he  asked  if  I  'd  rather 
sit  out  the  rest,  and  I  answered,  yes;  so  he  said  he  would 
tell  me  the  things  he  had  to  say.  He  found  a  quiet  place, 
which  must  have  looked  as  if  deliberately  selected  for  a 
desperate  flirtation;  and  then  he  did  n't  do  much 
beating  about  the  bush.  He  just  told  me  that  he  knew 
everything.  He  'd  partly  "  detected  "  it,  and  partly  found 
out  by  chance;  but  of  course  he  made  the  most  of  the 
detecting  bit. 

Don't  be  frightened  and  get  a  palpitation  at  the  news, 
dearest;  it  is  n't  worth  it.  There  's  going  to  be  no  flare- 
up.  Of  course,  if  I  were  the  heroine  of  a  really  nice  melo- 
drama, in  such  a  scene  as  Dick  and  I  went  through,  I  should 
have  been  accompanied  by  slow  music,  with  lime-light  every 
time  I  turned  my  head,  which  would  have  heartened  me 
up  very  much;  while  Dick  would  have  had  villain  music 
—  plink,  plink,  plunk!  But  I  did  as  well  as  I  could  with- 
out an  accompaniment,  and  I  think,  on  the  whole, 
managed  the  business  very  well. 

You  see,  I  had  to  think  of  Ellaline.  I  dared  not  let  her 
out  of  my  mind  for  a  single  instant,  for  if  I  should  fail  her 
now,  at  the  crucial  time,  it  would  be  my  fault  if  her  love 
story  burst  and  went  up  the  spout.  If  I  'd  stopped  think- 
ing of  her,  and  saying  in  my  mind  while  Dick  talked,  "I 
must  save  Ellaline,  no  matter  what  happens  to  me!"  I 


SET  IN  SILVER  117 

should  certainly  have  boxed  his  ears  and  told  him  to  go 
to  limbo. 

He  began  by  telling  me  that  he  'd  met  a  friend  of  mine, 
a  Miss  Bennett  —  Kathy  Bennett.  Oh,  mother,  just  for  a 
minute  my  heart  beat  under  my  pretty  frock  like  a  bird 
caught  in  a  child's  hand !  You  remember  my  writing  you 
what  a  friendship  Ellaline  and  Kathy  struck  up,  before 
Kathy  left  school  to  go  back  to  England,  and  how  she  sent 
Ellaline  cuttings  from  the  London  Radical  papers  about 
Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  in  Bengal  ?  I  do  think  it 's  almost 
ungentlemanly  of  so  many  coincidences  to  happen  in  con- 
nection with  what  I  'm  trying  to  do  for  Ellaline.  But 
Kathy 's  such  a  lump,  it 's  too  great  a  compliment  to 
call  her  a  coincidence.  Anyhow,  Dick  met  her  in 
town,  at  a  tea  party  (a  "  bun  worry, "  he  called  it)  where  he 
went  with  his  dear  Aunt  Gwen ;  and  when  Kathy  men- 
tioned being  at  school  at  Madame  de  Maluet's,  he  asked  if 
she  knew  Miss  Lethbridge.  She  said  of  course  she  did, 
and  she  thought  Ellaline  was  a  "  very  naughty  little  thing  " 
not  to  write  or  come  and  see  her.  She  had  read  in  the 
papers  about  the  arrival  of  Sir  Lionel  with  his  sister  and 
ward,  you  see. 

Dick  remarked  that  he  'd  hardly  call  Miss  Lethbridge 
a  "  little  thing,"  whereupon  Kathy  defended  her  adjective 
by  saying  Ellaline  was  only  about  up  to  her  ear. 

Of  course  that  set  Mr.  Dick's  detective  bump  to  throb- 
bing furiously.  He  reassured  me  by  announcing  that  he 
had  n't  said  any  more  to  Kathy,  but  that  he  'd  thought  a 
lot.  In  fact,  he  thought  so  much  that  he  asked  if  she  'd 
give  him  a  line  of  introduction  to  Madame,  as  he  had  a 
cousin  vrho  wanted  to  go  to  a  French  school,  and  next 


118  SET  IN  SILVER 

time  he  "ran  across  to  Paris,"  he  might  have  a  look  at 
Versailles.  Kathy  gave  the  note,  and  that  same  night,  if 
you  '11  believe  it,  the  horrid  little  boy  did  "run  across." 
At  the  earliest  hour  possible  in  the  morning  he  called  at  the 
school,  only  to  find  Madame  already  away  for  her  holidays. 
But  you  know  she  always  leaves  her  sister,  Mademoiselle 
Prado,  to  look  after  things,  and  when  Mademoiselle  heard 
what  Dick  wanted,  she  showed  him  all  over  the  place.  He 
said  he  would  like  to  see  photographs  of  the  young  ladies 
in  groups,  if  any  such  existed,  because  he  could  write  his 
Australian  cousin  what  nice,  happy-looking  girls  they  were. 
Promptly  that  poor,  unsuspecting  female  produced  the 
big  picture  Madame  had  done  of  the  tea-party  on  the  lawn, 
a  year  ago  in  June,  and  there  was  I  in  it.  But  Dick  was 
too  foxy  to  begin  by  asking  questions  about  me.  Kathy 
adorned  the  photograph  also,  with  Ellaline  on  her 
right  and  me  in  the  perspective  of  her  left  ear,  which 
must  have  seemed  to  point  at  me  accusingly.  Dick 
could  claim  Kathy  quite  naturally,  as  he  'd  come  with 
her  letter,  and  presently  he  led  up  to  me,  saying  he 
seemed  to  have  seen  me  somewhere.  Was  I  a  great 
friend  of  Miss  Bennett's,  and  was  it  probable  that  she 
had  my  portrait  ? 

Mademoiselle  innocently  said  no,  Miss  Bennett  was 
much  more  likely  to  have  Mees  Lethbridge's  portrait  than 
Mees  Brendon's,  as  Mees  Brendon  was  not  a  pupil  of  the 
school,  only  a  teacher  of  singing,  and  Mees  Kathy  was  not 
musical.  But  Mees  Lethbridge,  la  petite  jeune  fille  on  the 
right,  was  a  friend  of  Mees  Bennett. 

Now  you  '11  admit  that  Dick  was  rather  smart  to  have 
chopped  all  these  branches  off  the  tree  of  knowledge  with 


SET  IN  SILVER  119 

his  little  hatchet.  I  think  his  cleverness  worthy  of  a 
better  cause. 

The  next  thing  he  did  was  to  ask,  naively,  if  that  Miss 
Lethbridge  was  the  Miss  Lethbridge  —  the  ward  of  Sir 
Lionel^Pendragon,  so  much  talked  of  in  the  papers  just 
now  ?  Proud  that  her  sister's  school  had  moulded  a  cele- 
brity, Mademoiselle  chatted  away  about  Ellaline,  saying 
what  a  dear  child  she  was,  how  sorry  Madame  was  to  part 
from  her,  and  how  Madame  de  Blanchemain,  Ellaline's 
chere  marraine,  at  St.  Cloud,  must  be  missing  her  mignonne 
at  this  very  moment. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  Mr.  Dick's  next  step  took 
him  at  a  single  stride  to  St.  Cloud.  He  did  n't  call  on 
Madame  de  Blanchemain,  not  wishing  to  stir  up  a  tempest 
in  a  teapot,  but  simply  pryed  and  peered,  and  did  all 
sorts  of  sneaky  things,  only  excusable  in  a  professional 
detective,  who  must  (or  thinks  he  must)  live. 

He  found  out  about  Madame  de  Blanchemain's 
nephew,  Ellaline's  Honore,  and  put  this  and  that  to- 
gether, until  he  'd  patched  up  the  theory  of  a  love  affair. 
But  further  he  dared  not  go,  on  that  track,  so  he 
pranced  back  to  Versailles,  and  found  out  things  about 
Audrie  Brendon. 

The  way  he  did  that  was  through  noticing  the  name  of 
the  Versailles  photographer  who  took  the  group  in  the  gar- 
den. Dick  called  on  him,  and  said  he  wanted  a  copy  of  the 
picture,  because  his  "cousin"  was  in  it.  The  man  had 
several  on  hand,  as  parents  occasionally  wrote  for  them, 
and  when  Dick  got  his  he  inquired  who  I  was.  The 
obliging  photographer,  perhaps  scenting  a  romance,  told 
him  I  lived  in  the  Rue  Chapeau  de  Marie  Antoinette  with 


120  SET  IN  SILVER 

my  mother.  Then  the  wretch  actually  had  the  impudence 
to  describe  to  me  a  visit  he  paid  our  apartment,  ringing 
at  the  door,  and  asking  dear  Philomene  for  Madame 
Brendon ! 

In  five  minutes,  he  had  heard  all  our  family  affairs,  as  far 
as  that  dear,  simple,  talkative  soul  could  tell  him.  That 
you  were  in  Switzerland,  and  I  had  gone  to  England  to 
visit  a  friend. 

I  sat  and  listened  to  the  end  of  the  story,  saying  never  a 
word,  though  I  was  in  one  of  the  moods  which  make  me 
a  person  that  nobody  but  myself  could  stand  for  a  moment. 
I  should  simply  have  smiled  if  wild  horses  had  come  along 
to  tear  him  in  two. 

"So  you  see,"  said  he,  at  last,  when  I  did  n't  speak, 
"I  'm  in  the  game  with  you." 

"It  is  n't  my  game,"  said  I. 

"You  're  playing  it,"  said  he. 

"Because  I  have  to,"  said  I. 

"Is  it  Sir  Lionel  who  's  making  you  play  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  dear,  no, "  I  broke  out,  before  I  stopped  to  think. 

"Then,  he  isn't  in  it?" 

I  thought  it  looked  more  respectable  to  admit  that, 
whatever  the  "game"  was,  Sir  Lionel  and  I  were  not  play- 
ing it  together. 

"You  're  doing  it  for  your  friend,"  deduced  our  young 
detective. 

I  gently  intimated  that  that  was  my  business.  But  Mr. 
Burden  advised  me  that  I  would  be  wise  to  accept  him  as 
my  partner  if  I  did  n't  want  the  business  to  fail. 

"What  have  I  done  to  you,  that  you  should  interfere?" 
I  wanted  to  know,  only  I  did  n't  dare  —  actually  did  n't 


SETINSILVER  121 

dare,  for  Ellaline's  sake,  to  speak  angrily.  Oh,  I  did  feel 
like  a  worm's  paper  doll ! 

"You  've  made  me  like  you,  awfully,"  he  said. 

"Then  you  should  n't  want  to  do  me  any  harm,"  I 
suggested. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  you  harm,"  he  defended  himself. 
"What  I  want  is  to  see  as  much  of  you  as  possible,  and 
also  I  'd  like  to  give  Aunt  Gwen  a  little  pleasure,  thrown  in 
with  mine.  I  want  you  to  ask  Sir  Lionel  to  invite  us  to 
join  your  party.  There  's  plenty  of  room  for  us  in  that 
big  motor-car  of  his.  I  went  to  see  it  in  the  garage  to-day." 

"You  would!"  I  couldn't  resist  sputtering.  But  he 
took  no  notice. 

"You  need  n't  be  afraid  that  Aunt  Gwen  's  in  this,"  he 
went  on  to  assure  me.  "I  've  kept  mum  as  an  oyster. 
All  she  knows  is  that  I  saw  you  —  Miss  Lethbridge  —  in 
Paris,  and  have  n't  been  the  same  man  since.  She  helped 
me  get  to  know  you,  of  course.  She  's  a  great  chum  of 
mine,  and  her  being  an  old  pal  of  Sir  Lionel's  too,  meant 
a  lot  for  me  in  the  beginning.  She  's  a  ripper,  and  stanch 
as  they  make  'em  —  but  they  don't  make  'em  perfectly 
stanch  where  other  women  are  concerned.  And  as  long 
as  you  and  I  hunt  in  couples  she  shan't  have  a  suspicion." 

"You  'd  tell  her,  if  I  refused  to  hunt  in  that  way?"  I 
asked. 

"I  might  think  it  my  duty  to  let  Sir  Lionel  know  how 
he  's  being  humbugged.  At  present  I  'm  shuttin'  my  eyes 
to  duty,  and  lookin'  at  you.  What?" 

"Why  does  Mrs.  Senter  want  to  come  with  us?"  I 
ventured  to  inquire. 

"Because,"  explained  her  loyal  nephew,  "she  's  fed  up 


122  SET  IN  SILVER 

with  visiting,  and  she  loves  motoring.  So  do  I,  with  the 
right  people.  I  'm  sure  it 's  not  much  to  ask.  We  won't 
sponge  on  Sir  Lionel.  We  '11  pay  our  own  hotel  bills;  and 
I  'm  sure,  even  though  you  are  in  a  wax  with  me  just  now, 
you  must  admit  Aunt  Gwen  and  I  would  wake  things  up 
a  bit  —  what  ?  All 's  fair  in  love  and  war,  so  you  ought  n't 
to  blame  me  for  anything  I  've  done.  You  'd  think  it 
jolly  well  romantic  if  you  read  it  in  a  book." 

I  denied  this,  but  said  I  would  consider.  He  must  give 
me  till  to-morrow  morning  to  make  up  my  mind;  which 
he  flatly  refused  to  do.  To-morrow  would  be  too  late. 
He  saw  in  my  eye  that  I  hoped  to  slip  off,  but  it  was  "no 
good  my  being  foxy."  Things  must  be  fixed  up,  or  blown 
up,  on  board  this  ship  to-night. 

Whether  or  not  he  really  meant  to  do  his  worst,  if  I 
would  n't  give  in,  I  can't  be  sure,  but  he  looked  as  obsti- 
nate as  six  pigs,  and  I  did  n't  dare  risk  Ellaline's  future. 
My  own  impression  is  that  there  's  a  big  mistake  some- 
where, and  that  she  would  be  perfectly  safe  in  Sir  Lionel's 
hands  if  she  would  tell  him  frankly  all  about  Honore  du 
Guesclin  —  I,  meanwhile,  vanishing  through  a  stage  trap 
or  something.  But  she  may  be  right.  And  I  may  be 
wrong.  That 's  why  I  was  forced  to  promise  Dick.  And 
I  kept  my  promise,  as  soon  as  we  got  home  to  our  hotel  — 
Sir  Lionel,  Mrs.  Norton,  and  I. 

I  knew  it  would  be  a  most  horrid  thing  to  do,  but  it  was 
even  horrider  than  I  thought. 

All  the  way  going  back  I  was  planning  what  to  say,  and 
feeling  damp  on  the  forehead,  thinking  how  impudent  it 
would  seem  in  me,  a  young  girl  and  a  guest,  to  make  such 
a  suggestion.  But  it  had  to  be  done,  so  I  screwed  up  my 


SETINSILVER  123 

courage,  swallowed  half  of  it  again,  with  a  lump  in  my 
throat,  and  exclaimed  in  a  gay,  spontaneous  way,  like  the 
sweet,  innocent  angel  I  am:  "Oh,  Sir  Lionel,  wouldn't 
it  be  fun  if  Mrs.  Senter  and  —  and  her  nephew  were  going 
with  us  for  a  little  way?  They  both  love  motoring." 

He  looked  surprised  and  Emily  pursed  her  lips. 

"  Do  you  want  them  to  come  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Well,  I  just  thought  of  it,"  I  stammered. 

"  I  thought  you  did  n't  like  Burden,"  he  said.  No  won- 
der, as  I  'd  unfortunately  unbosomed  myself  of  my  real 
sentiments  not  three  hours  before! 

"  I  think  he  's  amusing  enough,"  I  tried  to  slide  out  of 
the  difficulty.  "  And  Mrs  Senter  probably  would  n't  go 
without  him." 

"  I  somehow  gathered  an  impression  that  you  did  n't 
admire  her  particularly,"  went  on  Sir  Lionel,  looking 
at  me  with  a  very  straight  look. 

"Oh,  I  never  said  so!"  I  cried.  "I  admire  her  im- 
mensely." 

"  In  that  case,  I  '11  ask  them,  with  pleasure,"  said  Sir 
Lionel.  "The  idea  did  cross  my  mind  in  London,  but  I 
did  n't  think  you  'd  care  for  it,  somehow.  Emily  will  be 
pleased,  I  know.  Won't  you,  Emily  ?  And  if  Mrs.  Senter 
will  be  as  reasonable  as  you  two  in  the  matter  of  luggage 
we  shall  have  plenty  of  room." 

"  It  is  your  car,  and  the  idea  of  the  tour  is  yours,"  said 
Mrs.  Norton,  very  feminine  and  resigned,  also  feeling  that 
my  "  cheek  "  deserved  a  tiny  scratch.  "  I  am  pleased  with 
whatever  pleases  you" 

Next  morning  (or  rather  the  same  morning,  and  this 
morning)  Sir  Lionel  got  his  sister  to  write  a  note  to  Mrs. 


124  SET  IN    SILVER 

Senter,  and  he  wrote  one  too,  or  added  a  P.  S.  "Aunt 
Gwen's"  reply  was  a  ladylike  warwhoop  of  joy;  and  we 
are  now  waiting  till  the  latest  additions  to  our  party  have 
broken  the  news  to  their  hostess  at  Hayling  Island, 
packed  a  few  things  to  take,  and  sent  the  rest  "  home " 
(wherever  that  may  be)  with  Mrs.  Senter's  maid. 
Good-bye,  my  Parisienne  Angel. 

Your  broken  and  badly  repaired 
AUDRIE-ELLALINE. 

I  long  to  hear  whether  you  think  I  ought  to  have  braved 
Dick. 


SIR    LIONEL  PENDRAGON   TO  COLONEL 
PATRICK  O'HAGAN 

Royal  Hotel,  Winchester 
July  2lst.    Night 

MY  DEAR  PAT:  I  thought  of  you  on  the  Portsmouth 
Downs  yesterday,  remembering  a  tramp  you  and  I  had 
together,  "exploring  wild  England,"  as  we  called  it.  We 
then  had  a  pose  that  all  England,  except  "town,"  was 
wild  —  save  only  and  always  when  there  was  any  shoot- 
ing of  poor  silly  pheasants  or  hunting  of  "that  pleasant 
little  gentleman,"  the  fox. 

After  running  out  through  Portsmouth,  I  suggested 
stopping  the  car  and  mounting  the  downs  above,  on 
foot,  for  a  look  at  the  view.  There  are  now  five  in  our 
party,  instead  of  three  —  not  counting  Young  Nick,  who 
has  no  stomach  for  views.  At  Ellaline's  expressed  wish, 
Mrs.  Senter  and  Dick  Burden  have  come  on  with  us  from 
Hayling  Island,  where  they  were  staying.  We  met  them 
at  a  dance  on  the  Thunderer,  which  Starlin  captains. 
They  have  been  invited  to  be  of  the  party  for  a  fortnight 
or  so. 

I  should  rather  have  liked  to  watch  Ellaline's  face  as 
she  climbed  the  hill,  her  feet  light  on  yielding  grass,  where 
the  gold  of  buttercups  and  turquoise  of  harebells  lay 
125 


126  SET  IN  SILVER 

scattered  — as  she  climbed,  and  as  she  reached  the  top,  to 
see  England  spread  under  her  eyes  like  a  great  ring.  But 
that  privilege  was  Burden's.  I  hope  he  appreciated  it. 
Mine  was  to  escort  Mrs.  Senter.  I  was  glad  she  did  n't 
chat.  I  hate  women  who  chat,  or  spray  adjectives  over 
a  view. 

You  remember  it  all,  don't  you  ?  On  one  side,  looking 
landward,  we  had  a  Constable  picture :  a  sky  with  tumbled 
clouds,  shadowed  downs,  and  forests  cleft  by  a  golden 
mosaic  of  meadows.  Seaward,  an  impressionist  sketch  of 
Whistler's :  Southampton  Water  and  historic  Portsmouth 
Harbour;  stretches  of  glittering  sand  with  the  sea  lying 
in  ragged  patches  on  it  here  and  there  like  great  pieces  of 
broken  glass.  Over  all,  the  English  sunshine  pale  as  an 
alloy  of  gold  and  silver;  not  too  dazzling,  yet  discreetly 
cheerful,  like  a  Puritan  maiden's  smile;  but  not  like  Ella- 
line's.  Hers  can  be  dazzling  when  she  is  surprised  and 
pleased. 

I  think  I  recall  your  talk  with  me  on  a  height  over- 
looking the  harbour  —  perhaps  the  same  height.  We 
painted  a  lurid  picture,  to  harrow  our  young  minds,  of  the 
wreck  of  the  Royal  George.  And  we  said,  gazing  across 
the  Downs,  that  England  looked  almost  uninhabited. 
Well,  it  appears  no  more  populous  now,  luckily  for  the 
picture.  I  heard  Ellaline  saying  to  Dick  Burden  that 
the  towns  and  villages  might  be  playing  at  hide  and  seek, 
they  concealed  themselves  so  successfully.  Also  I  heard 
her  advise  him  to  read  "Puck  of  Pook's  Hill,"  and  was 
somewhat  disappointed  that  she  'd  already  had  it,  as  I 
bought  it  for  her  in  Southsea  yesterday.  Probably  she 
won't  care  to  read  it  again.  Perhaps  I  had  better  give  the 


SETINSILVER  127 

book  to  Mrs.  Senter,  who  is  a  more  intellectual  woman  than 
you  and  I  supposed  when  she  was  playing  with  us  all  in 
India.  But  one  does  n't  talk  books  with  pretty  women  in 
the  East. 

You  remember  the  day  you  and  I  walked  to  Winchester 
from  Portsmouth,  starting  early  in  the  morning,  with  our 
lunch  in  our  pockets  ?  Well,  we  came  along  the  same  way, 
past  old  William  of  Wykeham's  Wickham,  the  queer  mill 
built  of  the  Chesapeake's  timbers,  and  Bishops'  Waltham, 
where  the  ruins  of  the  Episcopal  palace  struck  me  as  being 
grander  than  I  had  realized.  Ellaline  was  astonished  at 
coming  upon  such  a  splendid  monument  of  the  past  by 
the  roadside,  and  was  delighted  to  hear  of  the  entertain- 
ment Coeur  de  Lion  was  given  in  the  palace  after  his 
return  from  the  German  captivity.  Of  course  the  story 
of  the  famous  "Waltham  Blacks"  pleased  her  too. 
Women  can  always  forgive  thieves,  provided  they  're 
young,  gay,  and  well  born. 

When  Mrs.  Senter  found  that  Ellaline  and  my  sister 
were  in  the  habit  of  sitting  in  the  tonneau,  Young  Nick 
beside  me,  she  asked,  after  a  little  hesitation,  if  she  might 
take  his  place,  leaving  the  chauffeur  to  curl  himself  up  on 
the  emergency  seat  at  my  feet.  She  said  that  half  the  fun 
of  motoring  was  to  sit  by  the  man  at  the  wheel  and  share 
his  impressions,  like  being  in  the  forefront  of  battle,  or 
going  to  the  first  performance  of  a  play,  or  being  in  at  the 
death  with  a  hunt.  So  now  you  can  imagine  me  with  an 
amusing  neighbour,  for  naturally  I  consented  to  the 
change.  Neither  Ellaline  nor  Emily  had  suggested 
companioning  me,  and  though  I  must  say  I  had  thought 
of  proposing  it  to  Ellaline,  I  had  n't  found  the  courage. 


128  SET  IN  SILVER 

She  would  no  doubt  have  been  too  polite  to  refuse,  while 
perhaps  disliking  the  plan  heartily.  Now,  Burden  has 
been  allotted  a  place  with  her  and  my  sister,  which  is 
probably  agreeable  to  Ellaline. 

Curious!  Even  the  frankest  of  girls — and  I  believe 
Ellaline  to  be  as  frank  as  her  sex  allows  —  can  be  secretive 
in  an  apparently  motiveless  way.  Why  should  she  tell 
me  one  moment  that  she  did  n't  like  Burden*,  and  the  next 
(practically)  ask  me  to  invite  him  and  his  aunt  to  travel 
with  us,  because  she  "admires  Mrs.  Senter  immensely"? 
Or  perhaps  it  is  that  the  child  does  n't  know  her  own  mind. 
I  am  studying  her  with  deepening  interest,  but  am  not 
likely  to  have  as  many  opportunities  now  there  are  more  of 
us.  She  and  Burden,  being  the  young  girl  and  the 
young  man  of  the  party,  will,  of  course,  be  much  together, 
and  Mrs.  Senter  will  fall  to  my  lot  for  any  excursions 
which  may  not  interest,  or  be  too  tiring  for,  Emily.  This 
boy's  presence  makes  me  realize,  as  I  did  n't  until  I  had  a 
young  man  of  twenty-one  constantly  under  my  eyes,  that 
the  knocking  of  the  "younger  generation"  has  already 
begun  to  sound  on  my  door.  I  had  better  hearken,  I 
suppose,  or  some  one  else  will  kindly  direct  my  attention 
to  the  noise.  I  confess  I  don't  like  it,  but  it 's  best  to 
know  the  worst,  and  keep  the  knowledge  in  the  heart, 
rather  than  read  it  in  the  mockery  of  some  pretty  girl's 
eyes  —  a  pretty  girl  to  whom  one  is  an  "  old  boy, " 
perhaps. 

Jove,  Pat,  that  sticks  in  my  gorge!  It 's  not  a  thought 
to  take  to  bed  and  go  to  sleep  with  if  one  wants  pleasant 
dreams.  I  'm  stronger  than  I  ever  was,  my  health  is 
perfect,  I  have  few  gray  hairs,  my  back  is  straight.  I  feel 


SET  IN  SILVER  129 

as  if  the  elixir  of  youth  ran  hot  in  my  veins.  Yet  one  sees 
headlines  in  the  papers,  "Too  Old  at  Forty."  And  — 
one  is  forty.  It  did  n't  matter  —  that  is,  I  did  n't  think  of 
it,  until  the  coming  of  this  boy. 

His  very  ideas  and  manners  are  different  from  mine. 
No  doubt  they  're  the  approved  ideas  and  manners  of 
his  generation,  as  we  had  ours  at  his  age.  I  wear  my  hair 
short,  and  think  no  more  of  its  existence  except  to  wash 
and  brush  it;  but  this  Dick  parts  his  in  the  middle,  and 
sleeks  the  long  locks  back,  keeping  them  smooth  as  a  sur- 
face of  yellowish  satin,  with  bear's  grease  or  lard,  or  some 
appalling,  perfumed  compound.  His  look  is  a  mixture 
of  laziness  and  impudence,  and  half  his  sentences  he 
ends  up  with  "What?"  or  even  "What- what?"  His 
way  with  women  is  slightly  condescending,  and  takes 
their  approval  for  granted.  There  's  no  youthful  shyness 
about  him,  and  what  he  wants  he  expects  to  get;  but  with 
me  he  puts  on  an  irritating,  though,  I  fear,  conscientious 
air  of  deference  that  relegates  me  to  the  background  of 
an  older  generation;  sets  me  on  a  pedestal  there,  perhaps; 
but  I  have  no  wish  for  a  pedestal. 

Still,  to  do  him  justice,  the  lad  is  neither  ill-looking  nor 
ill-mannered.  Indeed,  woman  may  consider  him  engag- 
ing. His  aunt  seems  devoted  to  him,  and  says  he  is  irresist- 
ible to  girls.  I  think  if  no  "greenery  yallery"  haze 
floated  before  my  eyes,  I  might  see  that  he  is  rather 
a  decent  boy,  extremely  well-groomed,  alert,  with  good, 
short  features  and  bright  eyes.  When  he  walks  with 
Ellaline  he  has  no  more  than  an  inch  the  advantage  of 
her  in  height,  but  he  has  a  well-knit  figure  and  a  "  Sand- 
hurst bearing." 


130  SET  IN  SILVER 

"Crabbed  age  and  youth  cannot  live  together." 

Am  I  crabbed  age  ? 

Well,  this  long  digression  ought  to  bring  me  on  as  far 
as  Winchester,  where  we  came  yesterday  afternoon,  late. 
We  should  have  been  earlier  (though  our  start  was  delayed 
by  our  guests'  preparations),  but  Ellaline  was  fascinated  by 
the  pretty  village  of  Twyford.  You  remember  it  ?  She  'd 
been  reading  it  up  in  a  guide-book,  and  would  stop  for  a 
look  at  the  place  where  the  Fair  Fitzherbert  was  said  to 
have  been  married  to  her  handsome  prince,  later  George 
IV.  I  can't  recall  hearing  that  story,  though  certainly 
Mrs.  Fitzherbert's  relations  lived  near;  but  I  knew  Pope 
was  sent  down  from  school  there  because  of  a  satire  he 
wrote  on  the  master,  and  that  Franklin  visited  and  wrote 
in  Twyford. 

It  was  after  four  when  I  turned  the  car  round  that  sharp 
corner  which  swings  you  into  the  Market  Square  of  what 
is  to  me  the  grandest  and  most  historic  town  of  England. 
Why,  it  is  England!  Did  n't  the  Romans  get  their  Venta 
Belgarum,  which  finally  developed  into  Winta-ceaster 
and  Winchester,  from  the  far  older  Celtic  name  for  an 
important  citadel?  Wasn't  there  a  Christian  church 
before  the  days  of  Arthur,  my  alleged  ancestor  ?  Was  n't 
the  cathedral  begun  by  the  father  of  ^Elfred  on  the  founda- 
tions of  that  poor  church  as  well  as  those  of  a  Roman 
temple  ?  Was  n*t  it  here  that  the  name  of  Anglia  —  Eng- 
land —  was  bestowed  on  the  United  Kingdoms,  and 
was  n't  it  from  Winchester  that  ^Elfred  sent  out  the  laws 
that  made  him  and  England  "Great"  ? 

Ellaline  delights  in  the  fact  that  the  said  Roman  temple 
was  Apollo's,  as  well  as  Concord's,  she  having  named  my 


SETINSILVER  131 

car  Apollo,  and  the  Sun  God  being  her  favourite  mytho- 
logical deity  at  the  moment.  Apropos  of  mythology,  by 
the  way,  she  was  rather  amusing  this  morning  on  the 
subject  of  Icarus,  who,  she  contends,  was  the  pioneer  of 
sporting  travel.  If  he  did  n't  have  "tyre  trouble,"  said 
she,  he  had  the  nearest  equivalent  when  his  wax  wings 
melted. 

I  should  have  enjoyed  playing  cicerone  in  Winchester, 
knowing  and  loving  the  place  as  I  do,  if  it  had  n't  been  for 
Dick  Burden's  air  of  thinking  such  knowledge  as  mine 
quite  the  musty-fusty  luggage  of  the  old  fogy.  There  's 
no  use  pretending  it  did  n't  rub  me  up  the  wrong  way ! 

Yesterday  after  arriving,  Emily  clamoured  for  tea,  so 
we  attempted  no  further  sightseeing,  but  drove  straight 
to  this  delightful  old  hotel,  which  was  once  a  nunnery, 
•and  has  still  the  nunnery  garden,  loved  by  the  more 
enterprising  of  cathedral  rooks.  Or  are  they  the  nuns 
come  back  in  disguise  ?  This,  you  '11  guess,  is  Ellaline's 
idea. 

On  the  way  here,  however,  there  was  the  beautiful  City 
Cross  in  the  High  Street.  It  would  have  been  a  disgrace 
not  to  stop  for  a  look  at  it,  even  though  we  could  return; 
and  Ellaline  was  most  enthusiastic.  She  does  n't  know 
much  about  these  things  (how  could  she)  ?  but  she  feels  by 
instinct  the  beauty  of  all  that  is  really  fine;  whereas  Mrs. 
Senter,  though  maybe  better  instructed,  is  more  blasee. 
Indeed,  though  she  admires  the  right  things,  she  is  essenti- 
ally the  modern  woman,  whose  interest  is  all  in  the  present 
and  future.  I  can't  imagine  her  reading  history  for  the 
sheer  joy  of  it,  as  the  child  would  and  evidently  has.  Mrs. 
Senter  would  prefer  a  French  novel;  but  it  would  have  to 


132  SET  IN  SILVER 

be  well  written.  She  would  accept  no  trash.  She  has  an 
elastic  mind,  I  must  say,  and  appeared  satisfactorily 
shocked  when  I  told  her  how  the  Cross  would  have  been 
chopped  up  by  Paving  Commissioners  in  the  eighteenth 
century  if  the  people  had  n't  howled  for  its  salvation. 

The  same  sort  of  fellows  did  dump  Alfred  and  his  queen 
out  of  their  comfortable  stone  coffins,  you  know,  to  use  the 
stone.  Brutes!  What  was  St.  Swithin  thinking  of  to  let 
them  do  it  ?  A  mercy  it  did  n't  occur  to  some  commission 
to  take  down  Stonehenge.  They  could  have  made  a  lot 
of  streets  with  that. 

In  the  Market  Place,  too,  there  was  the  ancient  Fair  of 
Winchester  to  think  of,  the  fair  that  had  no  rival  except 
Beaucaire;  and  I  had  been  telling  them  all,  on  the  way  into 
the  town,  how  the  woods  round  the  city  used  to  swarm 
with  robbers,  hoping  to  plunder  the  rich  merchants  from 
far  countries.  Altogether,  I  fancy  even  Dick  was 
somewhat  impressed  by  the  ancient  as  well  as  modern 
importance  of  Winchester  by  the  time  we  drove  to  the 
hotel. 

By  and  by,  when  we  had  our  rooms  and  were  washed 
and  refreshed,  we  drank  tea  in  the  garden,  where  old- 
fashioned  flowers  were  sweet;  plenty  of  roses,  stocks,  and 
pansies.  (I  had  an  old  Scottish  nurse  when  I  was  a  foot 
or  two  high,  and  I  've  never  forgotten  what  she  said  about 
pansies.  "They  have  aye  the  face  of  a  smacked  cat!" 
It 's  true,  is  n't  it  ?  A  cat  glares  and  puts  its  ears  back  when 
it 's  smacked.  Not  that  I  ever  smacked  one  to  see.) 

Afterward,  I  was  not  of  a  mind  to  propose  anything. 
I  thought  each  had  better  follow  his  or  her  inclination  for 
what  was  left  of  the  day;  and  mine  was  to  stroll  out  and 


SET  IN  SILVER  133 

review  old  memories.  I  should  have  liked  to  take  Ellaline, 
but  fancied  she  might  prefer  society  nearer  her  own  age. 
However,  I  came  across  her  in  the  High  Street,  alone, 
gazing  fascinated  at  the  window  of  an  antique  shop. 
There  are  some  attractive  ones  in  Winchester. 

I  was  n't  sure  if  she  were  n't  waiting  for  Dick,  who  might 
have  strolled  away  from  her  for  a  minute,  so  I  would  have 
passed  on  if  she  had  n't  turned. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  so  beautiful  ?  "  she  asked  me. 

I  had,  but  I  did  n't  say  so.  I  liked  her  to  like  everything 
in  my  Winchester,  so  I  inquired  what  she  admired  most  in 
the  shop  window.  She  hardly  knew.  But  there  was  some 
wonderful  old  jewellery. 

The  girl  was  right.  The  antique  jewellery  was  particu- 
larly good.  There  were  some  admirable  necklaces  and 
rings,  with  fine  stones. 

"  What 's  your  birth  month  ? "  I  asked,  on  a  sudden 
thought. 

"July,"  said  she. 

"  What  —  this  very  month  ?  I  hope  the  birthday 
has  n't  passed." 

"No-o,  not  yet,"  she  answered  reluctantly.  She  saw 
by  now  what  was  in  the  wind,  and  did  n't  want  to  seem 
greedy. 

I  persisted.     "Tell  me  when." 

"The  twenty-fifth.     But  you  are  not  to." 

"  Not  to  —  what  ?  " 

"You  know." 

"Yes,  I  will.  It 's  a  guardian's  duty  to  his  ward,  and 
in  this  case  a  pleasure." 

"I  'd    much    rather    vou   did  n't,   reallv."       And    she 


134  SET  IN  SILVER 

looked  as  grave  as  a  statue  of  Justice.    "  Some  day  you  '11 
know  why." 

I  waived  the  subject  at  this  point,  for  I  felt  obstinate, 
and  wanted  to  give  her  a  present.  There  was,  and  is,  no 
doubt  in  my  mind  that  her  reason  is  a  schoolgirl  reason. 
Madame  de  Maluet  has  probably  brought  her  up  to  believe 
it  is  not  comme  il  faut  for  a  jeune  file  to  accept  a  present 
from  a  monsieur.  Still,  her  voice  and  expression  were  so 
serious,  even  worried,  that  I  'm  wondering  if  it  could  be 
anything  else.  Anyhow,  I  have  bought  the  present,  and 
intend  to  give  it  her  on  the  25th.  It  is  a  quaint  old  mar- 
quise ring,  with  a  cabuchon  ruby  surrounded  by  very  good 
diamonds.  I  think  she  will  like  it,  and  I  don't  see  why  she 
should  n't  have  it  —  from  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  would  like 
to  make  up  to  her  for  the  injustice  I  've  been  doing  her  in 
my  mind  all  these  years  since  she  was  a  little  child,  left 
to  me  —  poor,  lonely  baby.  Only  I  don't  quite  know  how 
to  make  up.  I  don't  even  dare  to  confess  myself,  and  say 
I  am  sorry  I  never  seemed  to  take  any  interest  in  her  as 
she  grew  up.  She  must  have  wondered  why  I  never 
asked  to  have  her  picture  sent  me,  or  wanted  her  to  write 
—  or  wrote;  and  she  must  have  felt  the  cold  neglect  of  the 
only  person  (except  an  old  French  lady,  her  godmother) 
who  had  any  rights  over  her.  Beast  that  I  was !  And 
I  can't  explain  why  I  was  a  beast.  No  doubt  she  adores 
the  legend  (it  can't  be  a  memory)  of  her  mother, 
and  I  would  have  it  always  so.  She  need  never  know  any 
of  the  truth,  though  of  course,  when  she  marries  I  shall 
have  to  tell  the  man  one  or  two  things,  I  suppose. 

I  '11  let  you  know  next  time  I  write  how  the  ring  is 
received. 


SET  IN  SILVER  135 

This  morning,  after  breakfast,  we  all  walked  about  the 
streets  of  Winchester,  and,  of  course,  went  to  the  cathedral, 
where  we  stopped  till  nearly  two  o'clock. 

The  town  and  the  place  have  all  then*  old  charm,  and 
even  more  for  me;  the  "Piazza";  the  huddled,  narrow 
streets  full  of  mystery,  the  Cathedral  Close  with  its 
crowded  entrance,  its  tall  trees  that  try  to  hide  cathedral 
glories  from  common  eyes;  its  mellow  Queen  Anne  and 
Georgian  houses  which  group  round  in  a  pleasant,  self- 
satisfied  way,  as  if  they  alone  were  worthy  of  standing- 
room  in  that  sacred  precinct. 

To  me,  there  's  no  cathedral  in  England  that  means  as 
much  of  the  past  as  Winchester.  You  know  how,  in  the 
nave,  you  see  so  plainly  the  transition  from  one  architec- 
tural period  to  another  ?  And  then,  there  are  those  splendid 
Mortuary  Chests.  Think  of  old  Kynegils,  and  the 
other  Saxon  kings  lying  inside,  little  heaps  of  haunted  dust. 

I  was  silly  enough  to  be  immensely  pleased  that  the 
child  picked  out  those  Mortuary  Chests  in  their  high  rest- 
ing place,  and  the  gorgeous  alleged  tomb  of  William  Rufus, 
as  the  most  unforgettable  among  the  smaller  interests 
of  Winchester  Cathedral,  for  they  are  the  same  with  me; 
and  it 's  human  to  like  our  tastes  shared  by  (a  few)  others. 
She  was  so  enchanted  to  hear  how  William  the  Red  was 
brought  by  a  carter  to  be  buried  in  Winchester,  and  about 
the  great  turquoise  and  the  broken  shaft  of  wood  found  in 
the  tomb,  that  I  had  n't  the  heart  to  tell  her  it  probably 
was  n't  his  burial  place,  but  that  of  Henri  de  Blois. 

Of  course  she  liked  Bloody  Mary's  faldstool  —  the  one 
Mary  sat  in  for  her  marriage  with  Philip  of  Spain ;  and  the 
MSS.  signed  by  Alfred  the  Great  as  a  child,  with  his  father. 


130  SET  IN  SILVER 

Women  are  caught  by  the  personal  element,  I  think,  more 
than  we  are.  And  so  interested  was  she  in  Jane  Austen's 
memorial  tablet,  that  she  would  n't  be  satisfied  without 
going  to  see  the  house  where  Jane  died.  There  were  so 
many  other  things  to  see,  that  Emily  and  Mrs.  Senter 
would  have  left  that  out,  but  I  wanted  the  girl  to  have 
her  way. 

Poor  little,  sweet-hearted  Jane !  She  was  only  forty-one 
when  she  finished  with  this  world  —  a  year  older  than  I. 
But  doubtless  that  was  almost  old  for  a  woman  of  her  day, 
when  girls  married  at  sixteen,  and  took  to  middle-aged  caps 
at  twenty-five.  Now,  I  notice,  half  the  mothers  look 
younger  than  their  daughters  —  younger  than  any  daughter 
would  dare  to  look  after  she  was  "  out." 

A  good  many  interesting  persons  seem  to  have  died  in 
Winchester,  if  they  were  n't  clever  enough  to  be  born  in 
the  town.  Earl  Godwin  set  an  early  example  in  that 
respect.  Died,  eating  with  Edward  the  Confessor  — 
probably  too  much,  as  his  death  was  caused  by  apoplexy, 
and  might  not  have  happened  if  Edward  had  n't  been  too 
polite  to  advise  him  not  to  stuff. 

Of  course,  the  cathedral  is  the  great  jewel;  but  for  me 
the  old  city  is  an  ancient,  kingly  crown  set  full  of  jewels. 
There  's  the  West  Gate,  for  instance.  You  know  how  we 
said  it  alone  would  be  worth  walking  many  miles  to  see. 
And  the  old  castle.  I  'm  not  sure  that  is  n't  one  of  the 
best  sights  of  all.  I  took  the  party  there  after  luncheon, 
and  the  same  delightful  fellow  showed  us  round.  He 
had  11 't  changed  since  our  time,  unless  he  is  more 
mellow. 

He  was  quite  angry  to-day  with   a   German-American 


SET  IN  SILVER  137 

woman  — the  type,  as  Ellaline  murmured  to  me,  that  alone 
is  capable  of  a  plaid  blouse.  The  lady  inquired  nasally 
of  our  old  friend,  "Is  this  hall  mod-ern;  what  you  call 
mod-em?" 

We  were  at  the  moment  gazing  up  at  King  Arthur's 
Round  Table,  which  Henry  VIII.  hung  on  the  wall  to  save 
it  further  vicissitudes,  after  Henry  VII.  had  it  daubed 
with  colours  and  Tudor  roses,  to  furnish  forth  some 
silly  feast. 

The  dear  old  chap  raised  his  eyebrows  at  the  question, 
and  glanced  round  as  if  apologizing  to  each  massive  pillar 
in  turn.  Well,  he  said,  he  would  hardly  call  the  hall 
modern,  as  it  had  been  built  by  William  the  Conqueror, 
but  perhaps  the  lady  might  be  used  to  older  things  at  home. 
With  that,  he  turned  on  an  indignant  heel,  and  led  us 
out  to  the  courtyard  where  wretched  Edward  II.'s 
brother,  the  Duke  of  Kent,  was  executed.  He  has  the 
same  old  trick  of  being  "sorry  to  say"  whenever  he  has 
anything  tragic  or  gruesome  to  relate,  passing  lightly  over 
details  of  oubliettes,  and  skeletons  found  without  their 
heads  —  as  so  many  were  on  grim  St.  Giles's  Hill. 

Of  course  we  went  and  had  a  look  at  St.  Cross  and  Henri 
de  Blois's  old  hospital  almshouse.  We  would  have 
stopped  there  yesterday,  if  Emily  had  n't  so  ardently 
desired  tea.  But,  if  I  'd  thought  to  tell  her  about  the 
Dole  of  bread  and  beer,  she  might  have  been  persuaded, 
though  my  description  of  the  exquisite  windows  in  the 
courtyard,  and  the  quaint  houses  of  the  black  and  white 
brethren,  left  her  cold.  We  all  had  some  of  the  Dole  to-day 
at  the  portal;  and  Mrs.  Senter  took  it  as  a  compliment 
that  each  one  was  given  so  little.  Tourists  get  tiny  bits, 


138  SET  IN  SILVER 

you  know,  and  beggars  big  ones;  so  she  thought  it  would 
have  been  a  sign  that  they  disparaged  the  ladies'  hats  and 
frocks  if  they  had  been  more  generous.  It  would  be 
difficult  to  disapprove  of  hers.  She  understands  the  art 
of  dress  to  perfection. 

A  pity  we  could  n't  have  been  here  earlier  in  the  year, 
is  n't  it  ?  For  among  the  nicest  new  things  in  old  Win- 
chester are  the  Winchester  schoolboys.  How  they  spurn 
the  ordinary  tourist  they  meet  in  the  street,  and  how 
scornfully  polite  they  are  to  any  unfortunate  straying  beast 
who  asks  them  a  question,  making  him  feel  meaner  than 
any  worm!  A  foreigner  must  long  to  ask  the  consequential 
youths  to  "kindly  excuse  him  while  he  continues  to 
breathe";  for  few  strangers  can  sympathize  with  the 
contempt  we  English  have,  while  still  in  callow  youth,  for 
everyone  we  don't  know.  But,  let  a  newcomer  blossom 
into  an  acquaintance,  or  mention  a  relative  at  Eton,  and 
all  is  changed.  The  Winchester  boys  turn  into  the 
most  delightful  chaps  in  the  world. 

I  dare  say  I  shall  think  Dick  Burden  a  delightful  chap 
when  I  know  him  better.  At  present,  it 's  all  I  can  do  to 
put  up  with  him  for  the  sake  of  his  aunt.  And  the  fellow 
has  such  an  ostentatiously  frank  way  of  looking  one 
straight  in  the  eyes,  that  I  'm  hanged  if  I  'd  trust  him  to 
go  as  straight. 

Talking  of  going  straight,  to-morrow  morning  early  we 
leave  for  Salisbury,  and  when  we  feel  like  moving  shall 
pass  on  toward  the  New  Forest. 

Ever  yours, 
PEN. 


XI 

ATJDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

White  Hart  Hotel,  Salisbury 
July  24th 

DEAREST  :  I  am  particularly  homesick  for  you  to-night, 
because  it 's  my  birthday  eve.  Twenty-one  to-morrow, 
but  passing  for  nineteen.  And  is  n't  it  annoying,  I  went 
and  blurted  out  in  Winchester  two  days  ago  that  I  had 
a  birthday  hanging  over  me.  I  'm  awfully  afraid  Sir 
Lionel  thinks  himself  bound  to  give  me  a  present.  If  he 
does,  and  I  can't  get  out  of  taking  it,  I  shall  have  to  pass 
it  on  to  Ellaline,  of  course,  when  I  'm  passing  everything 
else  on  —  including  myself. 

I  know  you  're  thinking  of  me  to-night,  as  you  walk 
after  dinner  under  the  glorious  chestnut  trees  you  describe 
in  the  park  at  Champel-les-Bains.  I  wish  you  had  an 
astral  body!  It  would  n't  take  up  any  room,  or  have  to 
pay  railway  fares,  or  wait  for  invitations  to  visit,  and  it 
could  easily  be  one  of  the  party  in  Sir  Lionel's  car.  So 
nice  to  have  it  sitting  between  me  and  Dick  Burden! 

I  wanted  you  dreadfully  at  Winchester,  as  I  wrote  you 
in  the  note  I  scribbled  after  seeing  the  cathedral.  I  wish 
I  'd  told  you  more  about  Winchester  then,  for  now  it 's 
too  late.  All  Stonehenge  is  lying  on  top  of  my  Winchester 
impressions,  and  it  will  take  them  a  little  time  to  squeeze 
139 


140  SET  IN  SILVER 

from  underneath.  They  will  come  out,  though,  I  know, 
none  the  worse  for  wear.  And  how  I  shall  talk  this 
trip  over  with  you,  when  we  're  together  again,  and  I 
know  the  end  that 's  hiding  behind  the  motor- veil  of 
the  future! 

Mother,  dear,  when  I  shut  my  eyes  to-night,  I  see 
Barrows,  billowing  prehistorically  along  the  horizon,  and 
I  see  Stonehenge,  black  against  a  red  sunset,  and  silver 
in  the  moonlight.  Also,  I  have  begun  to  think  architec- 
turally, I  find,  through  seeing  so  much  architecture,  and 
trying  to  talk  about  it  intelligently,  as  Mrs.  Senter  con- 
trives to  do.  (I  believe  she  fags  it  up  at  night,  with  a  wet 
towel  over  her  hair  wavers !) 

Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  think  architecturally  ?  Well, 
for  me  (not  apropos  of  Mrs.  S.  at  all),  a  made-up  woman 
is  "well  restored,"  or  "repaired."  An  intellectual- 
looking  man,  with  a  fine  head,  has  Norman  bumps  and 
Gothic  ears.  A  puppy  with  big  feet  is  an  early  Perp.,  with 
Norman  foundations,  and  so  on.  It  gives  a  new  interest 
to  life  and  the  creatures  we  meet.  Emily  is  late  Georgian, 
with  Victorian  elevations. 

I  hated  leaving  Winchester;  but  oh,  those  Barrows  we 
saw,  when  we  were  coming  away!  They  made  most 
antique  things  seem  as  new  as  a  china  cup  with  "For  a 
Good  Girl"  outlined  on  it  in  gold  letters.  So  many 
stupendous  events  have  scattered  themselves  along  this 
road  of  ours,  as  the  centuries  rolled,  that  it  makes  the 
brain  reel,  trying  to  gather  them  up,  and  sort  them  into 
some  kind  of  sequence.  Often  I  wish  I  could  sit  and 
admire  calmly,  as  Mrs.  Senter  can,  and  not  get  boiling  with 
excitement  over  the  past.  But  one  is  so  uncomfortably 


SET  IN  SILVER  141 

intelligent,  one  can't  stop  thinking,  thinking  every  minute. 
Every  tiny  thing  I  see  has  its  little  "thought  sting," 
ready  like  a  mosquito;  and  a  fancy  that  has  lately  stabbed 
me  is  the  striking  resemblance  between  English  scenery, 
or  its  features,  and  English  character.  The  best  bits  in 
both  are  shy  of  showing  themselves,  and  never  flaunt. 
They  are  so  reserved  that  to  find  them  out  you  must 
search.  All  the  loveliest  nooks  in  English  country  and 
in  English  souls  are  hidden  from  strangers.  Why,  the 
very  cottages  try  to  hide  under  veils  of  clematis  and  roses, 
as  the  cottage  children  hide  their  thoughts  behind  long 
eyelashes. 

We  came  to  Salisbury  by  way  of  Romsey,  and  got  out 
to  see  the  splendid  old  church  which  almost  ranks  with 
Winchester  Cathedral  as  a  monument  of  England.  And 
Romsey  Abbey,  too,  very  beautiful,  even  thrilling;  still 
more  ancient  Hursley,  with  its  earthworks,  about  which, 
for  once,  Sir  Lionel  and  Dick  Burden  were  congenial. 
Of  course,  men  who  have  been  soldiers  like  Sir  Lionel,  or 
tried  to  be  soldiers  and  could  n't,  like  Dick,  must  know 
something  about  the  formation  of  such  things;  but  anyone 
may  be  interested  —  except  a  Mrs.  Norton. 

You  and  I  had  no  motoring  when  we  were  travellers, 
so  we  did  n't  see  Europe  as  I  am  seeing  England;  still,  I 
don't  believe  any  other  country  has  this  individuality 
of  vast,  billowing  downs.  As  you  bowl  smoothly  from 
one  to  another,  over  perfect  roads,  you  have  a  series  of 
surprises,  new  beauties  opening  suddenly  to  your  eyes. 
It  is  exciting,  yet  soothing;  and  that  mingling  of  emotions 
is  part  of  the  joy  of  the  car.  For  motorists,  the  downs 
of  Hampshire  and  Wiltshire  are  like  a  goddess's  beautiful 


142  SET  IN  SILVER 

breasts;  and  Nature  is  a  goddess,  is  n't  she  ?  —  the  greatest 
of  all,  combining  all  their  best  qualities. 

This  White  Hart  is  a  nice  hotel,  but  I  rather  resent 
the  foreign  waiters,  as  out  of  the  picture,  in  such  an 
essentially  old-fashioned,  English  place.  I  like  the  animal 
names  of  the  hotels  in  England.  Already  we  have  seen  a 
lot;  and  they  form  into  a  quaint,  colourful,  Noah's  Ark 
and  heraldic  procession  across  the  country.  The  Black 
Bull;  The  Golden  Unicorn;  The  Blue  Boar;  The  Red 
Lion;  The  Piebald  Horse;  The  Green  Dragon;  The 
White  Hart.  I  am  still  longing  for  a  Purple  Bear. 

The  first  thing  we  did  after  getting  settled  (which  I 
always  like,  as  I  have  n't  enough  luggage  to  make  much 
bother)  was  to  walk  out  and  see  the  town.  I  kept  Dick 
with  me,  not  because  I  wanted  him,  you  may  be  sure, 
but  because  I  can  see  he  is  a  blot  on  the  'scutcheon  for 
Sir  Lionel,  and  I  feel  so  guilty,  having  forced  him  into  the 
party,  that  I  try  to  attract  the  Blot  to  myself.  If  I  mention 
the  Blot  in  future,  you  '11  know  what  it  is.  When  I  'm 
very  desperate,  I  may  just  fling  a  drop  of  ink  on  the  paper 
to  relieve  my  feelings,  and  that  will  mean  the  same  thing. 
The  Blot  puts  on  an  air  of  the  most  exaggerated  respect 
for  Sir  Lionel.  You  'd  fancy  he  was  talking  to  a  cente- 
narian. Horrid,  pert  little  pig!  (I  think  pigs  run  in  their 
family.)  I  know  he  does  it  on  purpose  to  be  nasty,  and 
make  Sir  Lionel  feel  an  old  stager.  Do  you  remember 
the  pig-baby  in  "Alice's  Adventures"? 
He  only  does  it  to  annoy, 
Because  he  knows  it  teases. 

Not  that  it  need,  for  Sir  Lionel  looks  about  thirty-four. 
Nobody  would  give  him  forty  unless  they  saw  it  in  books; 


SET  IN  SILVER  143 

and  he  is  like  a  knight  of  romance.  There!  Now  you 
have  the  opinion  I  have  come  to  hold  of  Ellaline's  dragon. 
For  me,  the  Dragon  has  turned  into  a  Knight.  But,  of 
course,  I  may  be  mistaken.  Mrs.  Senter  says  that  no  girl 
can  ever  possibly  understand  a  man,  and  that  a  man  is 
really  much  more  complicated  than  a  woman,  though  the 
novelists  tell  you  it 's  the  other  way  round. 

We  started  out,  all  of  us,  except  Emily,  who  lies  down 
after  tea,  to  walk  to  John  Halle's  Hall,  a  most  interesting 
banqueting  room,  which  is  now  a  china-shop,  but  was 
built  by  a  rich  wool-stapler  (such  a  nice  word!)  in  1470, 
as  you  can  see  on  the  oak  carvings.  But  there  was  so 
much  to  do  on  the  way,  that  we  saw  the  Hall,  and  the  old 
George  Inn  —  where  Pepys  lay  "  in  a  silk  bed  and  had 
very  good  diet"  —  last  of  all. 

The  antique  furniture  shops  were  simply  enthralling, 
and  I  wanted  nearly  everything  I  saw.  Travelling  is  good 
for  the  mind,  but  it  develops  one  or  two  of  the  worst 
passions,  such  as  Greed  of  Possession.  We  went  into 
several  shops,  and  I  could  have  purred  with  joy  when  Sir 
Lionel  asked  me  to  help  him  choose  several  things  for 
Graylees,  which  he  would  have  sent  on  there,  direct. 
He  seemed  to  care  more  for  my  advice  than  for  Mrs. 
Senter's,  and  I  don't  think  she  quite  liked  that,  for  she 
really  knows  a  good  deal  about  old  English  furniture, 
whereas  I  know  nothing  —  only  a  little  about  French  and 
Italian  things. 

The  streets  of  Salisbury,  with  their  mediaeval  houses, 
look  exactly  as  if  they  had  been  originally  planned  to 
give  the  most  delightful  effects  possible  when  their  pictures 
were  taken.  Every  corner  is  a  gem;  and  Sir  Lionel  told 


144  SET  IN  SILVER 

us  that  the  old  rectangular  part  of  the  town  was  planned 
more  or  less  at  one  time.  Of  course,  the  people  who  did  the 
planning  had  plenty  of  time  to  think  it  all  over,  before 
moving  down  from  Old  Sarum,  which  was  so  high  and 
bleak  they  could  n't  hear  the  priest  saying  mass  in  the 
cathedral,  because  of  the  wind.  Fancy!  Salisbury  used 
to  be  called  the  "Venice  of  England";  but  I  must  say, 
if  one  can  judge  now,  the  simile  was  far-fetched. 

Lots  of  martyrs  were  burnt  in  Salisbury,  it  seems, 
when  that  sort  of  thing  was  in  fashion,  so  no  wonder  they 
have  to  keep  Bloody  Queen  Mary's  chair  in  Winchester 
instead  of  Salisbury,  where  they  've  a  right  to  feel  a 
grudge  against  the  wretched  little,  bilious  bigot  of  a 
lovesick  woman.  Sir  Lionel  has  several  well-known  martyrs 
on  his  family  tree,  Mrs.  Norton  says;  and  she  is  as  proud 
of  them  as  most  people  are  of  royal  bar-sinisters.  I  never 
thought  martyrs  particularly  interesting  myself,  though 
perhaps  that 's  an  uneasy  jealousy,  as  we  've  none  in 
our  family  that  I  know  of  —  only  a  witch  or  so  on  father's 
side.  Poor  dears,  what  a  pity  they  could  n't  have  waited 
till  now  to  be  born,  when,  instead  of  burning  or  drowning 
them,  people  would  have  paid  them  to  tell  nice  things  about 
the  past  and  predict  lovers  for  the  future! 

Witches  were  fascinating;  but  many  martyrs  probably 
marted  out  of  sheer  obstinacy,  don't  you  think?  Of 
course,  it  was  different  when  they  executed  you  without 
.giving  you  a  chance  to  recant,  as  they  did  with  political 
prisoners;  and  do  you  know,  they  cut  off  poor  witty 
Buckingham's  head  in  Salisbury  market-place?  "So 
much  for  Buckingham!"  Where  it  came  off,  there  's  an 
inn,  now,  called  the  Saracen's  Head.  I  wonder  if  it  was 


SET  IN  SILVER  145- 

chopped  off  in  the  neighbourhood,  too,  or  if  it 's  only  a 
pleasant  fancy,  to  cover  up  the  Buckingham  stain  in  the 
yard?  Anyhow,  they  tell  you  there  that  in  1838 
Buckingham's  skeleton  was  dug  up  under  the  kitchen  of 
what  used  to  be  the  Blue  Boar  Inn.  But  even  that  is  n't 
as  ghastly  a  tale  as  another  one  of  Salisbury :  how  one  of 
Jack  Cade's  "  quarters  "  was  sent  to  the  town  when  he  'd 
been  executed.  I  should  have  liked  to  know  if  it  's  still 
to  be  seen,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  hardly  nice  to  ask. 

We  saved  the  cathedral  for  the  last,  and  just  as  we 
were  in  the  midst  of  sight-seeing  there,  it  was  time  for 
service,  so  we  sat  down  and  listened  to  music  which  seemed 
to  fall  from  heaven.  There  's  nothing  more  glorious  than 
music  in  a  cathedral,  is  there  ?  Usually  it  makes  me  feel 
good;  but  this  time  it  made  me  feel  so  sinful,  on  account 
of  Ellaline,  and  Sir  Lionel  and  Dick,  that  I  almost  cried. 
Do  you  think,  dear,  that  if  I  were  in  a  novel  they  would 
have  me  for  a  heroine  or  a  wicked  adventuress?  I  hae 
me  doots;  but  my  one  hope  is,  that  you  can't  be  an  adven- 
turess if  you  really  mean  well  at  heart,  and  are  under 
twenty-two. 

Maybe  I  'd  expected  too  much  of  Salisbury  Cathedral, 
because  I  'd  always  heard  more  about  it  than  others  in 
England,  but  it  was  n't  quite  so  glorious  to  me  as  Win- 
chester. It 's  far  more  harmonious,  because  it  was 
planned  all  at  one  time,  like  the  town,  and  there  's  singu- 
larly little  foreign  influence  to  be  traced  in  the  architecture, 
which  makes  it  different  from  most  others,  and  extra- 
ordinarily interesting  in  its  way.  It 's  very,  very  old,  too, 
but  it  is  so  white  and  clean  that  it  looks  new.  And  one 
great  beauty  it  has:  its  whiteness  seems  always  flooded 


146  SET  IN  SILVER 

with  moonlight,  even  when  sunshine  is  streaming  over  the 
noble  pillars  and  lovely  tombs. 

This  morning  I  went  back,  with  Emily,  to  service,  and 
wandered  from  chapel  to  chapel,  till  nearly  luncheon  time. 
Then  Sir  Lionel  came,  and  took  me  up  strange,  hidden, 
winding  stairs,  to  the  den  of  the  librarian.  It  was  like 
stealing  into  an  enchanted  castle,  where  all  save  the 
librarian  slept,  and  had  slept  for  centuries.  When  it  was 
time  to  go  away,  I  was  afraid  that  Sir  Lionel  might  have 
forgotten  the  magic  spell  which  would  open  the  door  and  let 
us  escape.  There  were  interesting  things  there,  but  we 
were  n't  allowed  to  look  at  the  ones  we  wanted  to  see  most, 
till  we  were  too  tired  to  enjoy  them,  after  seeing  the  ones 
we  did  n't  want  to  see  at  all.  But  you  know,  in  another 
enchanted  castle,  that  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty,  there  was 
only  one  lovely  princess,  and  goodness  knows  how  many 
snorey  bores. 

At  three,  we  started  to  motor  out  to  Stonehenge;  and 
Sir  Lionel  chose  to  be  late,  because  he  wanted  to  be  there 
at  sunset,  which  he  knew  —  from  memory  —  to  be  the 
most  thrilling  picture  for  us  to  carry  away  in  our  heads. 

Nobody  ever  told  me  what  an  imposing  sight  Old  Sarum 
remains,  to  this  day,  so  I  was  surprised  and  impressed  by 
the  giant  conical  knoll  standing  up  out  of  the  plain  and  its 
own  intrenchments.  I  'd  just  been  reading  about  it  in 
the  guide-book,  how  important  it  used  to  be  to  England, 
when  it  was  still  a  city,  and  how  it  was  a  fortress  of  the  Celts 
when  the  Romans  came  and  snatched  it  from  them; 
but  I  had  no  idea  of  its  appearance.  I  would  have  liked 
to  go  with  Sir  Lionel  to  walk  round  the  intrenchments,  but 
he  asked  only  Dick.  However,  Mrs.  Senter  volunteered 


SET  IN  SILVER  147 

to  go,  at  the  last  moment,  just  as  they  were  starting,  and 
Emily  and  I  were  left,  flotsam  and  jetsam,  in  the  car,  to 
wait  till  they  came  back. 

I  was  n't  bored,  however,  because  Emily  read  a  religious 
novel  by  Marie  Corelli,  and  did  n't  worry  to  talk.  So  I 
could  sit  in  peace,  seeing  with  my  mind's  eye  the  pageant 
of  William  the  Conqueror  reviewing  his  troops  in  the  plain 
over  which  Old  Sarum  gloomily  towers.  Such  a  lurid 
plain  it  is,  this  month  of  poppies,  red  as  if  its  arid  slopes 
were  stained  with  the  blood  of  ghostly  armies  slain  in 
battle. 

But  it  was  going  back  further  into  history  to  come  to 
Amesbury.  You  know,  dear,  Queen  Guinevere's  Ames- 
bury,  where  she  repented  in  the  nunnery  she  'd  founded, 
and  the  little  novice  sang  to  her  "Too  late!  Too  late!" 
When  she  was  buried,  King  Arthur  had  "  a  hundred  torches 
ever  burning  about  the  corpse  of  the  queen."  Can't  you 
see  the  beautiful  picture?  And  when  her  nunnery  was 
gone  in  980,  another  queen,  far,  far  more  wicked  than 
Guinevere,  built  on  the  same  spot  a  convent  to  expiate  the 
murder  of  her  stepson  at  Corfe  Castle.  We  are  going  to 
Corfe,  by  and  by,  so  I  shall  send  my  thoughts  back  to 
Amesbury  from  there,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  Elfreda's 
nuns  became  so  naughty  they  had  to  be  banished.  Nor 
shall  I  forget  a  lover  who  loved  at  Amesbury  —  Sir 
George  Rodney,  who  adored  the  fascinating  Countess  of 
Hertford  so  desperately,  that  after  her  marriage  he 
composed  some  verses  in  her  honour,  and  fell  then  upon 
his  sword.  Why  don't  men  do  such  things  for  us  now- 
adays ?  Were  the  "  dear,  dead  women  "  so  much  more 
desirable  than  we? 


148  SET    IN  SILVER 

Was  n't  Amesbury  a  beautiful  "  leading  up  "  to  Stone- 
henge  ?  It 's  quite  near,  you  know.  It  does  n't  seem  as 
if  anything  ought  to  be  near,  but  a  good  many  things  are  — 
such  as  farms.  Yet  they  don't  spoil  it.  You  never  even 
think  of  them,  or  of  anything  except  Stonehenge  itself, 
once  you  have  seen  the  first  great,  dark  finger  of  stone, 
pointing  mysteriously  skyward  out  of  the  vast  plain. 

That  is  the  way  Stonehenge  breaks  on  you,  suddenly, 
startlingly,  like  a  cry  in  the  night. 

I  was  very  glad  we  had  the  luck  to  arrive  alone,  for  not 
long  after  we  'd  entered  the  charmed,  magic  circle  of  the 
giant  plinths,  a  procession  of  other  motor-cars  poured  up 
to  the  gates.  Droves  of  chauffeurs,  and  bevies  of  pretty 
ladies  in  motor  hats  swarmed  like  living  anachronisms 
among  the  monuments  of  the  past.  Of  course,  we  did  n't 
seem  to  ourselves  to  be  anachronisms,  because  what  is 
horrid  in  other  people  is  always  quite  different  and  excus- 
able, or  even  piquant,  in  oneself;  and  I  hastily  argued  that 
our  motor,  Apollo,  the  Sun  God,  was  really  appropriate  in 
this  place  of  fire  worship.  Even  the  Druids  could  n't 
have  objected  to  him,  although  they  would  probably  have 
sacrificed  all  of  us  in  a  bunch,  unless  we  could  have  hastily 
proved  that  we  were  a  new  kind  of  god  and  goddess, 
driving  chariots  of  fire.  (Anyhow,  motor-cars  are  making 
history  just  as  much  as  the  Druids  did,  so  they  ought  to  be 
welcome  anywhere,  in  any  scene,  and  they  seem  to  have 
more  right  to  be  at  Stonehenge  than  patronizing  little 
Pepys.) 

You  remember  Rolde,  in  Holland,  don't  you,  with  its 
miniature  Stonehenge  ?  Well,  it  might  have  been  made  for 
Druids'  children  to  play  dolls  with,  compared  to  this. 


SET  IN  SILVER  149 

If  the  Phoenicians  raised  Stonehenge  in  worship  of 
their  fiery  god,  they  had  good  reason  to  flatter  them- 
selves that  it  would  attract  his  attention.  And  I  do 
think  it  was  sensible  to  choose  the  sun  for  a  god.  Next 
to  our  own  true  religion,  that  seems  the  most  comforting. 
There  was  your  deity,  in  full  sight,  looking  after  one 
side  or  the  other  of  his  world,  all  through  the  twenty- 
four  hours. 

I  never  felt  more  awe-stricken  than  I  did  passing  under 
the  shadow  of  those  great  sentinel  plinths,  guarding  their 
sunken  altar,  hiding  their  own  impenetrable  mysteries. 
The  winds  seemed  to  blow  more  chill,  and  to  whisper 
strangely,  as  if  trying  to  tell  secrets  we  could  never  under- 
stand. I  love  the  legend  of  the  Friar's  Heel,  but,  after  all, 
it 's  only  a  mediaeval  legend,  and  it 's  more  interesting  to 
think  that,  from  the  middle  of  the  sacrificial  altar,  the  priest 
could  see  the  sun  rise  (at  the  summer  solstice)  just  above 
that  stupendous  stone.  I  stood  there,  imagining  a  white- 
robed  Druid  looking  up,  his  knife  suspended  over  a  fair 
girl  victim,  waiting  to  strike  until  his  eye  should  meet  the 
red  eye  of  the  sun.  Oh,  I  shall  have  bad  dreams  about 
Stonehenge,  I  know!  But  I  shan't  mind,  if  I  can  dream 
about  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  digging  for  treasure  there 
at  midnight.  And  if  I  were  like  Du  Maurier's  dear  Peter 
Ibbetson,  I  could  "  dream  back,"  and  see  at  what  far  dis- 
tance the  builders  of  Stonehenge  got  their  mysterious 
syenite,  and  that  one  black  sandstone  so  different  from  the 
rest.  I  could  dream  who  were  the  builders;  whether 
Phoenicians,  or  mourning  Britons  of  Arthur's  day — as 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  tells. 

Sir  Lionel  and  I  like  to  think  it  was  the  Britons,  for  that 


150  SET  IN  SILVER 

gives  him  a  family  feeling  for  the  place,  since  he  read  out 
of  a  book  Warton's  sonnet: 

"Thou  noblest  monument  of  Albion's  Isle, 
Whether  by  Merlin's  aid  from  Scythia's  shore 
To  Amber's  fatal  plain  Pendragon  bore, 
Huge  frame  of  giants'  hands,  the  mighty  pile 
To  entomb  his  Britons  slain  by  Hengist's  guile, 
Or  Druid  priests,  sprinkled  with  human  gore, 
Taught  'mid  the  massy  maze  their  mystic  lore." 

Next  time,  I  want  to  see  Stonehenge  from  an  airship,  or, 
at  a  pinch,  a  balloon,  because  I  can  judge  better  of  the 
original  form,  the  two  circles  and  the  two  ellipses,  which 
the  handsomest  policeman  I  ever  saw  out  of  a  Christmas 
Annual  explained  to  me,  pacing  the  rough  grass.  He 
lives  at  Stonehenge  all  day,  with  a  dog,  and  they  are  both 
guardians.  I  asked  him  if  he  had  not  beautiful  thoughts, 
but  he  said,  not  in  winter,  Miss,  it  was  too  cold  to  think 
then,  except  about  hot  soup.  Stonehenge  is  very  becom- 
ing to  this  young  man,  especially  at  sunset.  And,  dearest, 
you  can  hardly  imagine  the  glory  of  those  piled  stones  as 
you  look  back  at  them,  going  slowly,  slowly  away,  and 
seeing  them  purple-black  against  a  crimson  streak  of 
sunset  like  a  smoking  torch. 

We  got  lost,  trying  to  find  the  river  road,  going  home, 
and  had  great  fun,  straying  into  meadows,  and  onto 
ploughed  ground,  which  poor  Apollo  resented.  The  way 
was  beautiful,  past  some  lovely  old  houses  and  exquisite 
cottages;  and  the  Avon  was  idyllic  in  its  pretty  windings. 
But  the  villages  of  Wiltshire  I  don't  find  as  poetical  as  those 
in  Surrey  and  Sussex  or  Hampshire. 

You  would  never  guess  what  I  'm  going  to  do  to-morrow 
morning  ?  I  'm  not  sure  you  'd  let  me,  if  you  knew.  But 


SET  IN  SILVER  151 

a  ward  does  n't  need  a  chaperon  with  a  guardian.  He 
plays  both  parts.  I  'm  to  get  up  early  —  before  the 
sun  is  awake  —  and  Sir  Lionel  is  to  motor  me  out  to  Stone- 
henge,  so  that  I  can  see  it  by  sunrise  as  well  as  sunset. 
It  is  a  beautiful  idea,  and  the  handsome  policeman  has 
promised  to  be  there  and  let  us  in. 

Seeing  a  sunrise  is  like  a  glorified  Private  View,  I  think. 
I  expect  to  feel  as  Louis  of  Bavaria  must  have  felt  when 
he  had  a  Wagner  opera  all  to  himself. 

Now  I  am  going  down  to  post  this,  so  that  it  can  leave 
for  London  by  the  last  train,  and  start  for  Switzerland  in 
the  morning  —  of  my  birthday.  I  shall  count  the  sunrise 
a  birthday  present  from  heaven  if  it 's  fine;  and  if  it  is  n't 
I  shall  know,  what  I  suspect  already,  that  I  don't  deserve 
one. 

Your  loving  Changeling, 

AUDRIE. 


XII 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Compton  Arms,  Stony  Cross,  New  Forest 
July  25th 

LITTLE  STAB-MOTHER:  It 's  very  late  to-night,  or 
early  to-morrow,  but  I  did  want  to  write  you  on  my  birth- 
day; and  besides,  I  am  in  a  hurry  to  tell  you  about  the 
fairylike  experience  I  have  had.  I  am  in  fairyland 
even  here  and  now;  but  I  have  been  to  the  heart  of  it.  I 
shall  never  forget. 

Oh,  but  first  —  the  sunrise,  my  birthday  sunrise.  It  was 
wonderful,  and  made  me  think  how  much  time  I  have 
wasted,  hardly  ever  accepting  its  invitations.  I  believe 
I  will  turn  over  a  new  leaf.  I  shall  get  up  very,  very  early 
every  day,  and  go  to  bed  very,  very  late,  so  as  to  squeeze 
all  the  juice  out  of  the  orange,  and  wring  every  minute  out 
of  my  youth.  I  feel  so  alive,  I  don't  want  to  lose  the 
"morning  glory."  When  I  'm  old  I  shall  do  differently. 
I  '11  go  to  bed  directly  after  dinner  and  sleep  late,  so  that 
age  may  be  short,  following  a  long  youth.  Is  n't  that  a 
good  plan  to  make  on  my  twenty-first  birthday  ? 

Sir  Lionel  had  n't  forgotten,  and  wished  me  many  happy 
returns  of  the  day;  but  he  did  n't  give  me  a  present,  so  I 
hoped  he  had  changed  his  mind.  We  got  back  to  Salis- 
bury about  the  time  Mrs.  Norton  and  Mrs.  Senter  were 
152 


SET  IN  SILVER  153 

having  their  breakfasts  in  bed  (they  had  n't  heard  of  our 
expedition,  and  the  word  had  gone  out  that  we  were  n't 
to  start  for  the  New  Forest  till  after  luncheon,  as  it  would 
be  a  short  run),  and  we  had  nearly  finished  our  tea,  toast, 
and  eggs,  when  Dick  strolled  into  the  coffee-room.  He 
seemed  decidedly  intrigue  at  sight  of  us  together  at  a  little 
table,  talking  cozily;  and  that  detective  look  came  into 
his  eyes  which  cats  have  when  a  mouse  occurs  to  them. 
He  laughed  merrily,  though,  and  chaffed  us  on  making 
"secret  plans."  Dick  hasn't  a  very  nice  laugh.  It's 
too  explosive  and  loud.  (Don't  you  think  other  animals 
must  consider  the  laughter  of  humans  an  odd  noise, 
without  rhyme  or  reason  ?) 

Also  Dick  has  a  nasty  way  of  saying  "thank  you"  to  a 
waiter;  with  the  rising  inflection,  you  know,  which  is 
nicely  calculated  to  make  the  servant  feel  himself  the  last 
of  God's  creatures. 

By  two  o'clock  we  had  said  good-bye  to  Salisbury 
("good-bye"  for  me,  "au  revoir"  for  the  others,  perhaps), 
and  were  kinematographing  in  and  out  of  charming 
scenery,  lovelier  perhaps  than  any  we  'd  seen  yet.  Under 
green  gloom  of  forests,  where  it  seemed  a  prisoned  dryad 
might  be  napping  in  each  tree,  and  where  only  a  faun  could 
have  been  a  suitable  chauffeur;  past  heatherland,  just  lit 
to  rosy  fire  by  the  sun's  blaze;  through  billowy  country 
where  grain  was  gold  and  silver,  meadows  were  "flawed 
emeralds  set  in  copper,"  and  here  and  there  a  huge  dark 
blot  meant  a  prehistoric  barrow. 

The  car  played  us  a  trick  for  the  first  time,  and  Young 
Nick,  looking  more  like  Buddha  than  ever,  got  down  to 
have  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  the  motor.  I  think  Apollo 


154  SET  IN  SILVER 

had  swallowed  a  crumb,  or  something,  for  he  coughed  and 
wheezed,  and  would  n't  move  except  with  gasps,  until  he 
had  been  patted  under  the  bonnet,  and  tickled  with  all 
sorts  of  funny  instruments,  such  as  a  giant's  dentist 
might  use.  It  was  fun,  though,  for  us  irresponsible  ones, 
while  Sir  Lionel  and  Nick  tried  different  things  to  get  the 
crumb  out  of  Apollo's  throat.  Other  motorists  flew  by 
scornfully,  like  the  Priest  and  the  Levite,  or  slowed  up  to 
ask  if  they  could  help,  and  looked  with  some  interest  at 
Mrs.  Senter  and  me,  sitting  there  like  mantelpiece  orna- 
ments. I  did  n't  even  want  to  slaughter  them  for  the  dust 
they  made,  now  that  I  'm  a  real  motorist  myself,  for  "dog 
cannot  eat  dog";  and  even  cyclists  seemed  like  our  poor 
relations. 

One  elderly  woman  bumped  by,  sitting  in  a  kind  of 
dreadful  bath  chair  fastened  in  front  of  a  motor  bicycle, 
spattering  noise  and  petrol.  You  could  n't  see  her  features 
under  her  expression,  which  was  agonized.  The  young 
man  who  propelled  her  was  smirking  conceitedly,  as  if  to 
say,  "What  a  kind  chap  I  am,  giving  my  maiden  aunt  a 
good  time!" 

Presently  a  small  car  came  limping  along  that  had  "We 
Know  It"  printed  in  large,  rough  letters  on  a  card,  tied  to 
a  broken  wheel.  Was  n't  that  a  good  idea,  when  they  'd 
got  nervous  prostration  having  everybody  tell  them  ? 

Cows  paused,  gazed  at  us,  and  sneered;  but  at  last 
Apollo's  crumb  was  extracted;  Young  Nick  brushed  the 
dust  off  his  sleeves  by  rubbing  his  arms  together,  the  way 
flies  clean  their  antennae,  and  we  were  ready  to  go  on. 
"It 's  a  wise  car  that  knows  its  own  chauffeur,"  said  Mrs. 
Senter. 


SETINSILVER  155 

Just  because  this  happened,  and  because  a  tyre  presently 
burst  in  sheer  sympathy,  we  travelled  in  the  beginning  of 
sunset,  which  was  divine.  The  scene  swam  in  rose- 
coloured  light,  so  pink  it  seemed  as  if  you  could  bottle 
it,  and  it  would  still  be  pink.  The  tree  trunks  were  cased 
in  ruddy  gold,  like  the  gold  leaf  wrapped  round  royal 
mummies.  Making  up  for  lost  time,  the  white  road 
smoked  beneath  our  tyres,  and  we  were  soon  in  the  New 
Forest  —  the  old,  old  New  Forest,  perfumed  like  the  fore- 
court of  heaven. 

We  came  to  this  pretty  little  hotel,  in  the  midst  of 
heathery  spaces  like  a  cutting  in  the  aromatic  forest.  I 
like  my  room,  but  I  did  n't  want  to  stop  in  it  and  begin 
dressing  for  dinner.  Looking  out  of  my  window,  I  saw 
a  little  white  moon,  curved  like  a  baby's  arm,  cushioned 
among  banks  of  sky  azaleas,  so  I  felt  I  must  go  out  and 
drink  the  sunset.  I  had  left  too  much  of  that  rose-red 
wine  in  the  bottom  of  the  silver  goblet.  I  must  have  the 
last  drop! 

So  I  ran  downstairs;  and  I  warn  you,  now  comes  the 
experience  which  I  liked  so  much,  but  of  which  you  won't 
approve. 

The  landlord  stood  in  the  hall,  and  I  asked  him  if  there 
were  anything  wonderful  I  could  go  and  see  in  a  few 
minutes.  He  smiled,  and  said  it  would  n't  take  me  very 
long  to  find  Rufus's  Stone,  but  he  would  not  advise 
me  to  do  it.  I  replied  that  I  would  n't  ask  him  to  advise, 
if  he  'd  point  out  the  road,  and  probably  I  should  only 
venture  a  little  way.  He  was  a  nice  man,  so  he  went  out 
in  front  of  the  hotel  to  point,  and  lent  me  a  puppy  as  a 
companion. 


156  SET  IN  SILVER 

The  puppy  was  no  respecter  of  persons.  All  he  cared 
for  was  a  walk,  so  he  kindly  consented  to  take  me  with  him, 
gambolling  ahead  as  if  he  knew  where  I  wanted  to  go. 
That  tempted  me  on,  and  the  way  was  n't  hard  to  find, 
for  the  puppy  or  for  me.  We  played  into  each  other's 
paws,  and  when  I  was  lost  he  found  me,  or  vice  versa. 
The  first  thing  I  knew,  there  was  the  Stone.  Nobody 
could  mistake  it,  even  from  a  distance;  and  going  down 
to  it  from  the  top  of  a  hill,  it  was  still  light  enough  to  read 
the  inscription. 

This  was  my  first  entrance  into  the  heart  of  fairyland. 

William  Rufus  could  n't  have  chosen  a  more  ideal  spot 
to  die  in,  if  he  'd  picked  it  out  himself  from  a  list  of  a  hun- 
dred others;  and  the  evening  silence  under  the  great,  gray 
beeches  seemed  as  if  it  had  lasted  a  thousand  years,  always 
the  same,  old  and  wise  as  Mother  Earth.  Then, 
suddenly,  it  was  broken  by  the  rustle  and  stir  of  a  cock 
pheasant,  which  appeared  from  somewhere  as  if  by  magic, 
and  stood  for  an  instant  all  kingly,  his  breast  blazing  with 
jewelled  orders  in  the  sunset.  Me  he  regarded  with  the 
haughty  defiance  of  a  Norman  prince,  and  screamed  with 
rage  at  the  puppy,  all  his  theories  upset,  because  he  had 
been  so  positive  the  world  was  entirely  his.  So  it  was,  if 
he  'd  only  stopped  to  let  me  assure  him  that  he  owned  all 
the  best  things  in  it;  but  he  whirred  and  soared;  and  thus 
I  realized  instantly  that  he  was  a  fairy  in  disguise.  How 
stupid  of  me  not  to  have  guessed  while  he  was  there ! 

You  know,  the  New  Forest  is  haunted  with  fairies,  good 
and  bad.  There  are  the  "malfays"  that  came  because  of 
William  the  Conqueror's  cruelty  in  driving  away  the  peas- 
ants to  make  the  great  deer-forest  for  his  hunting;  and 


SET  IN  SILVER  157 

there  are  the  good  fays  that  help  the  cottage  housewives, 
and  the  "tricksies"  that  frighten  the  wild  ponies  and  pinch 
the  cattle.  I  would  n't  have  been  surprised  to  learn  that 
that  pheasant  was  Puck  himself,  for  no  doubt  Puck  has 
a  hunting-lodge  somewhere  in  the  New  Forest. 

I  meant  to  sit  by  the  Stone  only  five  minutes,  but  the 
fairies  put  a  spell  upon  my  five  minutes,  and  the  first  thing 
I  knew,  the  sun  was  gone.  So  was  the  puppy,  which  was 
even  more  serious,  for  I  was  handicapped  by  not  knowing 
his  name,  and  no  self-respecting  canine  thing  would 
respond  to  shouts  of  "dog,"  or  "here,  pup,  pup,  pup!" 

However,  I  tried  both,  running  about  to  look  for  him, 
here  and  there,  among  the  enchanted  bracken  that  rustled 
with  elf-life,  while  the  shadows  came  alive,  and  the  rosy 
light  died. 

"Puppy,  puppy!"  I  implored,  helplessly  drifting;  and 
then,  to  my  surprise  —  can  you  "find"  that  you  've  lost  a 
thing  ?  Well,  I  don't  know  how  else  to  express  it.  I  found 
that  I  'd  lost  the  path.  If  I  'd  only  been  able  to  remember 
whether  the  hotel  were  north  or  south,  or  east  or  west  of 
Rufus's  Stone,  maybe  it  would  have  been  all  right;  but  does 
any  normal  girl  ever  give  thought  to  points  of  the  com- 
pass ?  I  yelled  a  little  more,  hoping  the  puppy  would  be 
gentleman  enough  to  come  back  to  a  lady  in  distress,  and 
luckily  Sir  Lionel  heard  my  howls.  He  'd  come  out  to 
look  for  me,  on  learning  from  the  landlord  that  I  'd  gone 
to  Rufus's  Stone,  with  the  puppy,  and  he  had  met  it  — • 
not  the  stone,  but  the  puppy  —  looking  sneaky  and 
ashamed.  Just  then,  my  voice  gave  him  an  idea  of  my 
whereabouts,  otherwise  we  should  probably  have  missed; 
and  if  we  had,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done,  so 


158  SET  IN  SILVER 

you  must  n't  scold  at  what  happened  next.  Remember 
the  New  Forest  is  not  a  French  pension  full  of  old  maids, 
but  f  any  land  —  fairyland. 

He  was  in  evening  dress,  without  a  hat,  and  I  was 
pleased  to  see  him,  because  I  was  beginning  to  be  the 
tiniest  bit  afraid;  and  he  did  look  so  nice;  and  I  was  so 
glad  he  wasn't  Dick  Burden.  But  don't  worry!  I 
did  n't  tell  him  that. 

It  seems  he  came  downstairs  rather  early  for  dinner, 
and  the  landlord  mentioned  that  I  'd  gone  out,  so  he 
strolled  along,  thinking  to  meet  me  after  walking  a  few 
yards.  When  he  did  n't,  he  thought  he  'd  better  keep  on, 
because  it  was  too  late  for  me  to  be  out  of  doors  alone. 

I  was  apologetic,  and  afraid  it  must  be  long  past  dinner- 
time; but  he  said  I  need  n't  mind  that,  as  he  had  left 
word  for  the  others  not  to  wait  after  eight-fifteen. 

Then  in  a  few  minutes  I  began  to  realize  that  we  might 
have  an  adventure,  because  when  I  called,  and  Sir  Lionel 
hurried  on  in  quest  of  me,  he  'd  forgotten  to  notice  the 
landmarks.  It  did  seem  ridiculous  to  have  trouble  in  find- 
ing the  way,  so  short  a  distance  from  the  hotel;  but  you 
can't  conceive  how  misleading  it  is  in  the  New  Forest.  It 's 
like  a  part  of  the  enchantment;  and  if  we  had  been  in  the 
maze  of  the  Minotaur,  without  Ariadne's  clue,  we  could  n't 
have  been  more  bewildered  than  we  soon  found  ourselves, 
tangled  in  the  veil  of  twilight. 

"I  wonder  if  birds  will  cover  us  with  leaves?"  I  said, 
laughing,  when  we  had  made  up  our  minds  that  we  were 
lost.  But  it  seemed  more  likely  that,  if  any  creature  paid 
us  this  thoughtful  attention,  it  would  be  bats.  As  night 
fell  in  the  Forest,  they  unhooked  themselves  from  their 


SET  IN  SILVER  159 

mysterious  trapezes,  and  whirred  past  our  faces  with  a 
soft  flap,  flap  of  velvet  wings.  I  don't  know  what  I  should 
yiave  done  if  one  had  made  a  halfway-house  of  my  hair ! 

"Are  you  hungry?"  Sir  Lionel  wanted  to  know. 

I  said  that  I  was,  but  would  n't  harrow  him  up  by 
explaining  that  I  was  ravenous. 

He  did  n't  appear  even  to  want  to  scold,  though  it  would 
have  been  easy  to  hint  politely  that  it  would  be  my  own 
fault  if  we  did  n't  get  any  dinner  that  night  —  or,  per- 
haps, breakfast  next  morning.  Instead  of  being  cross 
with  me,  he  blamed  himself  for  being  stupid  enough  to 
lose  me.  I  exonerated  him,  and  we  were  extremely  nice 
to  each  other;  but  as  we  walked  on  and  on,  round  and 
Tound,  seeing  no  lights  anywhere,  or  hearing  anything 
except  that  wonderful  sound  of  a  great  silence,  I  began  to 
grow  tired.  I  did  n't  mean,  though,  that  he  should  see  it. 
I  had  enough  to  be  ashamed  of,  without  that,  but  he  knew 
by  instinct,  and  took  my  hand  to  draw  it  through  his  arm, 
telling  me  to  lean  as  heavily  as  I  liked.  I  held  back 
at  first,  saying  it  was  n't  necessary;  and  insisting,  as  I 
pulled  away,  his  hand  closed  down  on  mine  tightly.  It  was 
only  for  a  second  or  two,  because  I  gave  up  at  once,  and  let 
him  lay  my  hand  on  his  arm  as  he  wished.  But,  do  you 
know,  mother,  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you  it  felt  quite 
differently  from  any  other  hand  that  ever  touched 
mine. 

Of  course  I  have  n't  even  shaken  hands  with  many  men 
since  I  've  been  grown  up,  though  if  you  'd  let  me  be  a 
singer  I  should  n't  have  thought  any  more  about  it  than 
if  I  were  President  of  the  United  States.  One  reads  in 
novels  of  "the  electricity  in  a  touch,"  and  all  that;  but 


160  SET  IN  SILVER 

there  it  generally  means  that  you  're  falling  in  love.  And 
I  can't  possibly  be  falling  in  love  with  Ellaline's  Dragon, 
can  I  ?  I  don't  suppose  that  can  be.  It  would  be  too 
stupid,  and  forward,  and  altogether  unspeakable.  But 
really,  I  do  feel  differently  about  him  from  any  way  I  ever 
felt  before  toward  anybody.  I  have  always  said  that  I  'd 
rather  be  alone  with  myself  than  with  anyone  else  except 
you,  for  any  length  of  time,  because  I  'm  such  good  chums 
with  myself,  and  enjoy  thinking  my  own  thoughts.  But 
I  do  like  being  with  Sir  Lionel.  I  feel  excited  and  eager 
at  the  thought  of  being  with  him.  And  his  fingers  on 
mine  —  and  my  hand  on  his  arm  —  and  the  touch  of  his 
sleeve  —  and  a  faint  little,  almost  imperceptible  scent 
of  Egyptian  cigarettes  mixing  with  the  woodsy  smell  of 
the  night  —  oh,  I  don't  know  how  to  describe  it  to  myself. 
So  now  you  know  as  much  as  I  do.  But  would  n't  it  be 
dreadful  if  I  should  go  and  fall  in  love  with  Sir  Lionel 
Pendragon  of  all  other  men  in  the  world  ?  In  a  few  more 
weeks  I  shall  be  slipping  out  of  his  life  forever;  and  not 
only  that,  but  I  shall  be  leaving  a  very  evil  memory  behind. 
He  will  despise  me.  I  shall  have  proved  myself  exactly 
the  sort  of  person  he  abominates. 

I  did  n't  think  all  that,  however,  as  he  put  my  hand  on 
his  arm.  I  just  felt  the  thrill  of  it ;  but  instead  of  worrying, 
I  was  happy,  and  did  n't  care  how  tired  and  hungry  I  was, 
or  whether  we  ever  got  anywhere  or  not.  As  for  him,  he 
was  too  polite  to  let  me  know  he  was  bored,  and  all  the 
time  we  were  looking  for  the  hotel  the  night  was  so  beauti- 
ful, so  wonderful,  that  we  could  n't  help  talking  of  exqui- 
site things,  telling  each  other  thoughts  neither  of  us 
would  have  spoken  aloud  in  daylight.  It  was  quite 


SETINSILVER  161 

dark  now,  except  for  a  kind  of  rosy  quivering  of  light  along 
the  horizon,  and  the  stars  that  had  come  out  like  a  bright 
army  of  fairies,  with  millions  of  scintillating  spears. 

I  knew  then,  dearest,  that  he  was  no  dragon,  no  matter 
what  circumstantial  evidence  may  have  been  handed  down 
to  Ellaline  as  a  legacy  from  her  dead  mother.  That  is 
something  to  have  divined  by  the  magic  of  the  forest, 
is  n't  it,  after  I  've  been  puzzling  so  long  ?  There  is  now 
not  the  least  doubt  in  my  mind.  So  if  I  should  be  silly 
and  sentimental  enough  to  fancy  myself  in  love,  it  can't 
do  any  harm,  except  to  make  me  a  little  sorry  and  sad 
after  I  've  come  home  to  you.  It  won't  be  anything  to  be 
ashamed  of,  to  have  cared  about  a  man  like  Sir  Lionel; 
because  I  assure  you  I  shan't  behave  foolishly,  no  matter 
how  I  may  eventually  feel.  You  can  trust  your  Audrie 
for  that. 

It  was  too  dark  to  tell  the  time  by  a  watch,  but  we 
remarked  to  each  other  that  they  must  have  finished  dinner 
long  ago;  and  Sir  Lionel  hoped  this  would  n't  spoil  the 
memory  of  my  birthday  for  me. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  I,  before  I  thought,  "it  will  make  it 
better.  I  shall  never,  never  forget  this." 

"Nor  I,"  said  he,  in  a  pleasant,  quiet  tone. 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  me  that  he  had  a  little  birthday 
remembrance  which  all  day  he  'd  been  wanting  to  give  me. 
It  was  a  ruby  ring,  because  the  ruby  was  July's  stone,  but 
I  need  n't  wear  it  unless  I  liked.  He  hoped  I  would  n't 
mind  his  having  disobeyed  me  when  I  said  I  wanted 
nothing,  because  he  wished  very  much  to  give  it  to  me. 
And  having  lived  alone,  and  ordered  his  own  and  other 
people's  affairs  for  so  long,  had  accustomed  him  to  having 


162  SET  IN  SILVER 

his  own  way.  Would  I  be  kind  to  him,  and  accept  his 
present  ? 

I  could  n't  say  no,  under  those  stars  and  in  that  enchant- 
ment. So  I  answered  that  I  would  take  the  ring  — 
knowing  all  the  while  I  must  soon  hand  it  over  to  Ellaline. 

"  Shall  I  give  it  to  you  now  ?  "  he  asked,  "  or  will  you 
wait  till  to-morrow?" 

I  did  want  to  see  it,  though  it  was  to  be  only  borrowed ! 
"  Now,"  said  I.  Then  he  took  a  ring  from  some  pocket, 
and  tried  to  slip  it  over  a  finger  of  the  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Oh,  but  that 's  the  engaged  finger,"  I  burst  out. 

Silly  of  me!  I  might  have  let  him  put  it  on,  and 
changed  it  afterward. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  he,  almost  as  if  he  were 
startled.  "That  will  be  a  younger  man's  privilege  some 
day,  and  then  you  will  be  taken  away  from  me." 

"You  will  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  me,  I  should  think," 
I  hurried  to  say,  stretching  out  my  other  hand,  and  letting 
him  slip  the  ring  on  the  third  finger. 

"Should  you  think  so?"  he  echoed.  "I  suppose  you 
have  the  right  to  feel  that,  after  the  past.  But  don't  feel 
it.  Don't,  child." 

That  was  all,  and  I  did  n't  answer.  I  could  n't;  for 
what  he  had  said  was  for  Ellaline,  not  for  me.  Yet  it 
made  my  heart  beat,  his  voice  was  so  sincere,  and  fuller  of 
emotion  than  I  'd  ever  heard  it  yet. 

Just  then,  into  our  darkness  a  light  seemed  to  flash.  We 
both  saw  it  together.  I  thought  it  might  be  the  hotel, 
but  Sir  Lionel  said  he  feared  it  was  more  probably  the 
window  of  some  remote  cottage  or  charcoal-burner's  hut. 

We  walked   toward    it,  and  that  was  what  it  was:    a 


SET  IN  SILVER  163 

charcoal-burner's  hut.  Sir  Lionel  must  have  been  dis- 
appointed, because  he  wanted  to  get  me  home,  but  / 
was  n't.  I  was  in  such  a  mood  that  I  was  not  ready  for  the 
adventure  to  come  to  an  end. 

The  next  bit  of  the  adventure  was  exactly  suited  to  the 
New  Forest,  and  W2  could  n't  have  experienced  it  any- 
where else. 

The  hut  was  a  tiny,  wattled  shed,  and  the  light  we  'd 
seen  came  through  the  low,  open  doorway.  It  was  the 
light  of  a  fire  and  a  candle;  and  there  was  a  delicious 
aromatic  smell  of  wood  smoke  in  the  air.  Sir  Lionel 
explained,  as  we  walked  up  to  the  place,  that  some  of  these 
huts  were  hundreds  of  years  old,  remnants  of  the  time  when 
debtors  and  robbers  and  criminals  of  all  sorts  used  to  hide 
in  the  forest  under  the  protection  of  the  malfays.  As  he 
spoke,  we  almost  stumbled  over  some  obstacle  in  the 
dark,  and  he  said  that  very  likely  it  was  the  hearth  of  a 
vanished  cottage.  People  had  the  right  to  leave  the  hearth 
if  their  house  were  torn  down,  to  establish  "  cottage  rights" ; 
and  there  were  a  good  many  such,  still  scattered  through 
the  forest,  even  in  the  gardens  of  modern  houses;  for  no 
one  dared  take  them  away. 

The  charcoal-burner  was  "at  home,'*  and  receiving. 
He  was  engaged  in  cooking  eggs  and  bacon  for  his  supper, 
and  if  you  could  only  guess  how  good  they  smelled! 
Nothing  smells  as  nice  as  eggs  and  bacon  when  you  are 
hungry,  and  we  were  ravenous. 

Most  things  as  old  as  that  charcoal-burner  are  in  mu- 
seums ;  and  his  eyes  were  so  close  together  it  seemed  as  if 
they  might  run  into  one  when  he  winked.  Also,  he  was 
deaf,  so  we  had  to  roar  to  him,  before  he  could  understand 


164  SET  IN  SILVER 

what  had  happened.  When  he  did  understand,  though, 
he  was  a  thorough  trump,  and  said  we  could  have  his 
supper  if  we  "would  be  pleased  to  eat  it."  Bread  and 
cheese  would  do  for  him.  And  we  might  have  tea,  if  we 
could  take  it  without  milk. 

But  there  were  three  eggs,  and  three  strips  of  bacon,  so 
we  insisted  that  we  must  share  and  share  alike,  or  we 
would  have  nothing.  I  made  the  tea,  in  a  battered  tin  pot 
which  looked  like  an  heirloom,  and  we  all  sat  at  an 
uncovered  kitchen  table  together,  though  our  host  pro- 
tested. It  was  fun ;  and  the  old  thing  told  us  weird  tales  of 
the  forest  which  made  me  conscious  that  I  have  a  spine 
and  marrow,  just  as  certain  wild  music  does.  His  name  is 
Purkess;  he  thinks  he  is  descended  from  Purkess,  the 
charcoal-burner  who  found  the  body  of  William  Rufus; 
and  his  ancestors,  some  of  whom  were  smugglers  and 
poachers,  have  lived  in  the  forest  for  a  thousand  years. 
He  was  so  old  that  he  could  remember  as  a  child  hearing 
his  old  grandfather  tell  of  the  days  of  the  wicked,  illegal 
timber-selling  in  the  forest  for  the  building  of  warships. 
Just  think,  grand  oaks,  ash  and  thorn,  trees  stanch  as 
English  hearts,  sold  for  the  price  of  firewood! 

I  sat  at  the  table,  watching  the  firelight  play  on  my  ring, 
which  I  had  n't  seen  till  we  got  into  the  hut;  and  it  is 
beautiful.  I  shall  enjoy  having  it,  though  only  for  a  little 
while,  and  shall  regard  it  as  a  trust  for  Ellaline. 

The  charcoal-burner  assured  us  we  needn't  worry; 
he  would  put  us  on  the  way  home,  and  give  us  land- 
marks which,  after  he  'd  guided  us  a  certain  distance,  we 
could  n't  miss  even  at  night. 

When  we  'd  finished  our  eggs  and  bacon,  our  tea  and 


SET  IN  SILVER  165 

chunks  of  dry  bread,  Sir  Lionel  laid  a  gold  piece  on  the 
table.  Blind  as  he  was,  the  old  man  was  n't  too  blind  to 
see  that,  and  he  simply  beamed. 

"Bless  you  all  the  days  of  your  life,  sir,  and  your  good, 
pretty  lady!"  he  cackled. 

That 's  the  third  time  I  've  been  taken  for  Sir  Lionel's 
wife.  The  other  times  I  did  n't  care,  but  this  time,  though 
I  laughed,  it  was  a  put  on  laugh,  because  of  those 
dim  questionings  about  myself  floating  in  the  background 
of  my  mind. 

The  descendant  of  poachers  knew  the  forest,  as  he  said, 
"with  his  eyes  shut."  He  limped  before  us  for  nearly 
half  a  mile,  along  what  he  called  a  "walk"  —  a  New 
Forest  word  —  and  then  abandoned  us  to  our  fate,  after 
describing  the  profile  of  each  important  tree  which  we  must 
pass,  and  pointing  out  a  few  stars,  as  guides.  Then  we 
bade  each  other  good-bye  for  ever.  He  went  back  to 
gloat  over  his  gold  piece,  and  Sir  Lionel  and  I  went  on 
together. 

Somehow,  we  fell  to  talking  of  our  favourite  virtues, 
and  without  thinking,  I  said,  "My  mother's  is  gratitude." 

"  Gratitude,"  he  repeated,  as  if  in  surprise,  but  he  did  n't 
seem  to  notice  that  I  'd  used  the  present  tense.  To  make 
him  forget  my  slip,  I  hurried  on  to  say  I  thought  mine  was 
courage,  in  a  man,  anyhow.  What  was  his,  in  a  woman  ? 

"Truth,"  he  answered,  with  an  instant's  hesitation. 

Luckily  he  could  n't  see  me  blush  in  the  dark.  But 
the  real  Audrie  was  always  decently  truthful,  was  n't 
she  ?  It 's  only  this  Ellaline- Audrie  that  is  n't  free  to 
be  true. 

"Only  in  women?"  I  asked,  uncomfortably. 


166  SET  IN  SILVER 

"Truth  goes  without  saying  in  men  —  the  sort  of  men 
one  knows,"  said  he. 

"Don't  you  think  women  love  the  truth  as  much  as 
men?"  I  persisted. 

"No,  I  don't,"  he  answered  abruptly.  Then  qualified 
his  "no,"  as  if  he  ought  to  apologize  for  it.  "But  I 
have  n't  had  much  experience,"  he  finished,  a  heavy,  dull 
sound  coming  into  his  voice. 

Well,  dearest,  that 's  all  I  have  to  tell  you  on  this,  my 
birthday  night,  Except  that  we  found  our  way  back  to 
the  hotel  safely,  arriving  about  half-past  ten,  and  only 
Emily  was  anxious  about  us.  The  other  two  were  inclined 
to  be  frivolous;  and  Mrs.  Senter  noticed  the  new  ring, 
which  I  had  forgotten  to  take  off  my  finger.  Nothing  ever 
escapes  her  eyes!  I  saw  them  light,  and  linger,  but  of 
course  she  did  n't  refer  to  the  ring,  and  naturally 
I  did  n't. 

I  had  n't  quite  decided  whether  or  not  I  should  wear  it 
"for  every  day,"  and  had  been  inclined  to  think  it  would 
be  better  not,  even  at  the  risk  of  disappointing  the  giver. 
But  I  made  up  my  mind,  when  Mrs.  Senter  looked  so 
peculiarly  at  it,  that  I  would  brazen  the  thing  out,  and  so  I 
will. 

"I  envy  you  your  adventure,"  she  said,  in  what  I  felt 
was  a  meaning  voice,  though  Sir  Lionel  did  n't  appear  to 
read  under  the  commonplace  surface. 

I  don't  care  if  she  does  choose  to  be  horrid.  I  don't 
see  how  she  can  hurt  me.  And  as  for  Dick,  he  has  done 
his  worst.  He  has  made  me  get  them  both  asked  for  the 
tour.  I  should  think  that 's  enough. 

We  are  going  to  stop  at  the  Compton  Arms  for  two  or 


SET  IN  SILVER  167 

three  days,  running  about  in  the  car  to  see  different 
parts  of  the  forest,  and  coming  "home"  at  night.  I  love 
that  way! 

The  only  thing  I  don't  like  in  going  from  one  hotel 
to  another,  is  having  all  sorts  of  queer  little  birthmarks 
on  my  hankies  and  other  things  hi  the  wash.  Good-bye, 
Angel  Duck. 

Your  Grown-up 

DAUGHTER. 

Only  think,  I  am  now  of  age! 

By  the  way,  Sir  Lionel,  who  expected  his  ward  to  be  a 
little  girl  (thoughtless  of  him!),  said  to-night:  "You  're 
so  old,  I  can't  get  used  to  you." 

And  I  retorted,  "You  're  so  young,  I  can't  get  used  to 
you." 

I  hope  it  did  n't  sound  pert,  to  answer  like  that  ? 


XIII 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Lulworth  Cove,  July  30th 

Why  are  n't  you  with  me,  dearest,  seeing  what  I  am 
seeing  ? 

It 's  all  very  well  for  you  to  write  that  my  letters 
make  a  panorama  pass  before  your  eyes,  and  I  'm 
flattered,  but  I  want  you.  Although  I  am  enjoying 
life,  I  'm  more  excited  than  happy,  and  I  don't  sleep 
well.  I  dream  horrid  dreams  about  Mrs.  Senter  and 
Dick  Burden,  and  about  Ellaline,  too,  but  I  always  laugh 
when  I  wake  up. 

Thank  you  so  much  for  telling  me  that  you  think  I  'm 
behaving  pretty  well,  considering.  But  I  wonder  what 
you  'II  say  in  your  next,  after  my  last  ? 

Every  day  since  then  I  've  been  meaning  to  write,  if 
only  a  short  note,  but  we  've  had  early  starts  and  late 
stops;  and  then,  from  not  sleeping  at  night,  I  'm  often  so 
tired  when  the  end  of  the  day  comes  that  I  feel  too 
stupid  to  try  and  earn  your  compliments. 

It  is  morning,  and  I  'm  writing  out  of  doors,  sitting 
on  a  rock,  close  by  the  sea.  But  before  I  begin  to  describe 
Lulworth,  I  must  tell  you  a  little  about  the  glorious  things 
of  which  I  've  had  flying  glimpses  since  the  letter  dated 
Compton  Arms.  This  is  our  first  all-night  stopping  place 
168 


SET  IN  SILVER  169 

since  we  left  Stony  Cross  "for  good,"  but  I  've  picked  up 
many  a  marvellous  memory  by  the  way. 

People  who  have  n't  seen  the  New  Forest  have  n't  seen 
England. 

I  had  no  idea  what  it  was  like  till  we  stayed  there.  I 
knew  from  guide-books  that  there  were  thousands  of  acres 
of  woodland  still,  though  much  had  been  "deforested"; 
but  I  did  n't  know  it  hid  many  beautiful  villages,  and  even 
towns.  It 's  a  heavenly  place  for  motoring,  but  I  5m  not 
sure  it  would  n't  be  even  better  to  walk,  because  you  could 
eke  out  the  joy  of  it  longer.  I  should  like  a  walking 
honeymoon  (a  whole  round  moon)  in  the  New  Forest  — 
if  it  were  with  just  the  right  man. 

Oh,  I  must  n't  forget  to  say  I  'm  glad  I  did  n't  see 
Rufus's  Stone  by  daylight.  Mrs.  Senter  and  Dick  went 
the  morning  after  I  wrote  to  you,  but  I  would  n't  go  again, 
because  I  did  n't  want  to  lose  the  enchanted  picture  in 
my  mind.  She  laughed  when  I  refused.  I  could  have 
slapped  her.  But  never  mind. 

When  they  came  back  they  were  disgusted,  and  said 
there  was  a  ginger-beer  woman  and  a  man  with  the  game 
of  "Aunt  Sally,"  and  a  crowd  of  cockney  excursionists 
round  them  and  the  Stone.  Talk  of  malfays! 

Sir  Lionel  had  made  out  an  itinerary  for  the  day,  and 
we  were  to  start  for  Lyndhurst,  Beaulieu  Abbey,  Lyming- 
ton,  Brockenhurst,  and  Mark  Ash,  all  of  which  we  were  to 
visit  before  evening,  coming  back  by  way  of  Lyndhurst 
again,  and  stopping  there  for  tea.  But  before  we  got 
off,  such  a  comic  thing  happened. 

I  did  n't  think  to  mention  it  in  a  letter,  but  one  day  we 
passed  a  motor-car  that  was  having  tyre  trouble  by  the  side 


170  SET  IN  SILVER 

of  the  road.  The  chauffeur  was  rolling  on  a  new  tyre, 
with  a  curious-looking  machine,  in  which  Young  Nick 
was  passionately  interested,  as  he  'd  never  seen  one  before. 
Sir  Lionel  explained  that  it  was  an  American  tool,  not  very 
long  invented,  and  said  to  be  good.  He  added,  in  an  evil 
moment,  that  he  wished  he  'd  thought  to  buy  one  like  it 
before  leaving  London,  as  probably  the  thing  could  n't  be 
got  in  the  Provinces. 

Well,  just  as  we  were  about  ^to  spin  away  in  great 
style  from  the  Compton  Arms,  one  of  our  tyres 
sighed,  and  settled  down  for  an  unearned  rest.  But 
instead  of  looking  black-browed  and  murderous,  as  he 
did  when  the  same  thing  occurred  before,  Nick  smiled 
gleefully.  He  jumped  down,  and  without  a  word  pro- 
duced a  machine  exactly  like  the  one  his  master  admired 
a  few  days  ago. 

"Where  did  you  get  that?"  asked  Sir  Lionel. 

"Last  night,  sahib,"  returned  Nick,  imperturbably. 
(He  can  speak  quite  good  English.) 

"  What !     Since  we  had  our  trouble  ?  " 

"Yes,  sahib."  An  odd  expression  now  began  to  play 
among  Nick's  brown  features,  like  a  breeze  over  a  field  of 
growing  wheat. 

"  How's  that  ?    There  's  no  shop." 

"The  sahib  says  true.     I  found  this  thing." 

"Where?"  sharply. 

"But  a  little  way  from  here.     In  the  road." 

"You  rascal,"  exclaimed  Sir  Lionel.     "  You  stole  it." 

Young  Nick  made  Buddha  eyebrows  and  a  Buddha 
gesture.  "The  sahib  knows  all.  But  if  I  did  take  it? 
Those  men,  they  were  going  again  to  the  big  city.  We 


SET  IN  SILVER  171 

away.  They  never  miss  this.  They  buy  another.  It  is 
better  we  have  it." 

Trying  to  look  very  angry,  though  I  knew  he  was  dying 
to  laugh,  Sir  Lionel  reproached  Nick  for  breaking  a  solemn 
promise.  "You  swore  you  'd  never  do  such  a  thing  in 
England  if  I  brought  you  with  me.  Now  you  Ve  begun 
again,  the  same  old  game.  I  shall  have  to  send  you  back, 
that  is  all." 

"Then  I  die,  and  that  is  all,"  replied  Young  Nick, 
calmly. 

The  end  of  the  story  is,  that  Sir  Lionel  found  out  the 
names  of  the  men,  who  had  spent  the  night  at  the  Comp- 
ton  Arms,  and  had  written  their  address  in  the  visitors' 
book.  He  sent  the  tool  to  them,  with  an  explanation  which 
I  should  have  loved  to  read.  And  it  appears  that,  though 
Nick  is  honest  personally,  he  is  a  thief  for  the  car,  and  in 
Bengal  took  anything  new  and  nice  which  other  motors 
had  and  his  had  n't. 

Now,  Mrs.  Norton  is  afraid  that,  if  Sir  Lionel  scolds  him 
much,  he  will  commit  hari-kari  on  the  threshold  of  the 
hotel,  which  would  be  embarrassing.  And  it  does  no 
good  to  tell  her  that  hari-kari  is  a  Japanese  or  Chinese 
trick.  She  says,  if  Nick  would  not  do  that  he  might  do 
something  worse. 

Gliding  over  the  perfect  roads  of  the  Forest,  Apollo 
seemed  actually  to  float.  I  never  felt  anything  so  delicious, 
and  so  like  being  a  goddess  reclining  on  a  wind-blown 
cloud.  No  wonder  motorists'  faces,  when  you  can  see 
them,  almost  always  look  madly  happy.  So  different  from 
"hay  motorists,"  as  The  Blot  says.  They  generally  look 
grumpy. 


172  SET  IN  SILVER 

The  little  wild  ponies  were  one  of  the  Forest's  surprises 
for  me.  We  met  lots  of  them,  mostly  miniature  mothers 
giving  their  innocent-faced,  rough  babies  an  airing;  delight- 
ful beastkins.  And  I  almost  liked  Mrs.  Senter  for  having 
a  cousin  who  owns  one  of  these  ponies  as  a  pet,  a  dwarf 
one,  no  bigger  than  a  St.  Bernard  dog.  It  wears  a  collar 
with  silver  bells,  follows  her  everywhere,  thinks  nothing  of 
curling  up  on  a  drawing-room  sofa,  and  once  was  found 
on  its  mistress's  bed,  asleep  on  a  new  Paris  hat. 

The  enticing  rose-bowered  cottages  we  passed  ought  to 
have  told  me  that  we  were  back  in  Hampshire  again,  if  the 
New  Forest  had  n't  seemed  to  a  poor  little  foreigner  like 
a  separate  county  all  by  itself.  It  would  be  no  credit  to  a 
bride  to  clamour  for  love  in  such  a  cottage,  and  turn  up 
her  nose  at  palaces.  She  might  be  married  at  the  beautiful 
church  of  Lyndhurst  (a  most  immediate  jewel  of  a  church, 
with  an  exquisite  altar-piece  by  Lord  Leighton,  a  Flaxman, 
and  a  startlingly  fine  piece  of  sculpture  by  an  artist  named 
Cockerell),  then,  safely  wedded,  plunge  with  her  bride- 
groom into  the  Forest,  and  be  perfectly  happy  without  ever 
coming  out  again.  I  wish  I  had  had  the  "  Forest  Lovers  " 
to  re-read  while  we  were  there.  I  think  Maurice  Hewlett 
must  have  got  part  of  his  inspiration  in  those  mysterious 
green  "  walks  "  which  lead  away  into  that  land  where  fairy 
lore  and  historic  legend  go  hand  in  hand. 

Lyndhurst,  which  King  George  III.  loved,  is  pretty, 
but  we  did  n't  stop  to  look  at  it,  because  we  were  coming 
back  that  way.  After  seeing  the  church  which,  though 
modern,  I  would  n't  have  missed  for  a  great  deal,  we  spun 
on  to  Beaulieu  Abbey,  the  home  of  a  hero  of  motoring. 
There  we  saw  a  perfect  house,  rising  among  trees,  and 


SET  IN  SILVER  173 

sharing  with  the  sky  a  clear  sheet  of  water  as  a  mirror. 
Once  this  was  a  guest-house  for  the  Abbey;  now  it 's 
called  the  Palace  House,  and  deserves  its  name.  Its  look- 
ing-glass is  really  only  a  long  creek,  which  spills  out  of  the 
Solent,  but  it  seems  like  a  lake ;  and  you  've  only  to  walk 
along  a  meadow  path  to  the  refectory  of  the  old  abbey. 
From  there  you  go  through  a  mysterious  door  into 
the  ruined  cloisters,  which  used  to  belong  to  the  Cister- 
cians —  the  "  White  Monks."  King  John  provided 
money  for  the  building;  which  proves  that  it 's  an  ill  wind 
which  blows  no  one  any  good,  because  the  stingy,  tyrannical 
old  king  would  n't  have  given  a  penny  to  the  abbots  if 
they  had  n't  scourged  him  in  a  nightmare  he  had.  I 
shan't  soon  forget  the  magnolia  and  the  myrtle  in  the  quad- 
rangle, and  if  I  were  one  of  the  long-vanished  monks,  I 
should  haunt  the  place.  There  could  n't  be  a  lovelier  one. 

From  Beaulieu  we  went  to  Lymington,  a  quaint  and 
ancient  town,  with  a  picturesque  port.  Everything  there 
looked  happy  and  sleepy,  except  the  postillions  on  the 
Bournemouth  coach,  which  was  stopping  at  the  hotel  where 
we  had  an  early  lunch.  They  were  wide  awake  and  jolly, 
under  their  old-fashioned,  broad-brimmed  beaver  hats. 

After  Lymington,  we  skimmed  through  the  Forest, 
hardly  knowing  or  caring  whither,  though  we  did  manage 
to  find  Brockenhurst,  and  Mark  Ash,  which  was  almost 
the  finest  of  all  with  its  glorious  trees.  Our  one  wish  was 
to  avoid  highways,  and  Sir  Lionel  was  clever  about  that. 
The  sweetest  bit  was  a  mere  by-path,  hardly  to  be 
called  a  road,  though  the  surface  was  superb.  Young 
Nick  had  to  get  down  and  open  a  gate,  which  led  into  what 
seemed  a  private  place,  and  no  one  who  had  n't  been 


174  SETINSILVER 

told  to  go  that  way  would  have  thought  of  it.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  gate  it  was  just  another  part  of  forest 
fairyland,  whose  inhabitants  turned  themselves  into  trees 
as  we,  in  our  motor-car,  intruded  on  them.  I  never  saw 
such  extraordinary  imitations  of  the  evergreen  family  as 
they  contrived  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  It  was  a  glam- 
orous wood,  and  throughout  the  whole  forest  I  had  more 
and  more  the  feeling  that  England  is  n't  so  small  as  it  's 
painted.  There  are  such  vast  spaces  not  lived  in  at  all, 
yet  haunted  with  legend  and  history.  One  place  we 
passed  —  hardly  a  place,  it  was  so  small  —  was  called 
Tyrrel's  Ford ;  and  there  Sir  Walter  Tyrrel  is  said  to  have 
stopped  to  have  his  horse's  shoes  reversed  by  a  black- 
smith, on  his  flight  to  the  sea,  after  killing  the  Red  King. 
Or  no,  now  I  remember,  this  was  next  day,  between  Ring- 
wood  and  Christchurch! 

When  we  were  having  tea  at  Lyndhurst  on  our  way  back, 
at  a  hotel  like  a  country  house  in  a  great  garden,  we  found 
out  that  it  once  had  been  the  home  of  your  forty-second 
cousin,  the  Due  de  Stacpoole,  who  came  to  England  with 
Louis  Philippe.  There  's  his  beautiful  tapestry,  to  this 
day,  in  the  dining-room,  and  his  gorgeous  magnolia  tree 
looking  wistfully  into  the  window,  as  if  asking  why  he 
is  n't  there  to  admire  its  creamy  flowers,  big  as  fat  snow- 
balls. 

On  our  way  home  the  rabbits  of  the  New  Forest  were 
having  a  party,  and  were  annoyed  with  us  for  coming 
to  it  without  invitations.  They  kept  "  crossing  our  path  " 
as  people  in  melodramas  say,  so  that  we  had  to  go  slowly, 
not  to  run  over  them,  and  sometimes  they  galloped  ahead, 
just  in  front  of  us,  exactly  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  so  that 


SET  IN  SILVER  175 

we  could  n't  pass  them.  Dick  kept  longing  to  "  pot "  at 
the  poor  little  pets,  but  Sir  Lionel  said  he  had  lived  out 
of  England  long  enough  to  find  a  good  deal  of  pleasure 
in  life  without  taking  that  of  any  other  creature.  That 
is  n't  a  very  dragonish  sentiment,  is  it  ? 

Next  day  we  had  a  delicious  run  (there  's  no  other 
adjective  which  quite  expresses  it)  through  Ringwood, 
which  is  a  door  of  the  Forest,  to  Christchurch,  another 
Abbey  —  (no,  it 's  a  Priory ;  but  to  me  that 's  a  detail)  which 
stands  looking  at  its  own  beauty  in  a  crystal  mirror. 
It  's  Augustan,  not  Cistercian,  like  Beaulieu;  and  it 's 
august,  as  well;  very  noble;  finer  to  see  than  many  a 
cathedral.  You  and  I,  in  other  lands,  have  industriously 
travelled  many  miles  to  visit  churches  without  half  as  many 
"features"  as  Christchurch.  One  of  its  quaintest 
is  a  leper's  window;  and  a  few  of  the  beauties  are  the 
north  transept,  with  unique  "hatchet"  ornamentation; 
a  choir  with  wonderful  old  oak  carvings  —  and  the  tomb 
of  the  Countess  of  Salisbury,  of  whom  you  read  aloud  to 
me  when  I  was  small,  in  a  book  called  "  Some  Heroines  of 
History."  She  came  last  in  the  volume  because  she  was 
only  a  countess,  and  not  a  queen,  but  I  cried  when  she 
said  she  did  n't  mind  being  killed,  only  being  touched  by 
a  horrid,  common  axe,  and  wanted  them  to  cut  off  her  head 
with  a  sword.  There  are  lots  of  other  beautiful  things  in 
the  church,  too,  and  a  nice  legend  about  an  oak  beam 
which  grew  long  in  the  night,  and  building  materials 
which  came  down  from  a  hill  of  their  own  accord,  because 
one  of  the  builders  was  Christ  himself.  That 's  why  they 
named  it  Christchurch,  you  see,  instead  of  Twyneham, 
as  it  would  otherwise  have  been. 


176  SET  IN  SILVER 

We  stopped  only  long  enough,  after  we  had  seen  the 
Priory,  to  pay  our  respects  to  a  splendid  old  Norman 
house  near  by,  and  then  dashed  away  toward  Boscombe 
and  Bournemouth,  which  reminded  me  a  little  of  Baden- 
Baden,  with  its  gardens  and  fountains  and  running 
waters;  its  charming  trees  and  exciting-looking  shops. 
Just  because  it 's  modern,  we  did  n't  pause,  but  swept  on, 
through  scenery  which  suddenly  degenerated.  However, 
as  I  heard  Sir  Lionel  say  to  Mrs.  Senter :  "  You  can't  go  far 
in  this  country  without  finding  beauty  " ;  and  presently  she 
was  her  own  lovely  self  again,  fair  as  Nature  intended  her 
to  be.  I  mean  England,  not  Mrs.  Senter,  who  is  lovelier 
than  Nature  made  her. 

We  ran  through  miles  of  dense  pine  forests,  where 
rhododendrons  grew  wild ;  where  gulls  spread  silver  wings 
and  trailed  coral  feet  a  few  yards  above  our  heads;  and 
the  tang  of  the  sea  mingled  with  pine-balsam  in  our 
nostrils. 

Soon  after  dull,  but  historic  Wareham  we  came  quite 
into  the  heart  of  Thomas  Hardy's  country.  Scarcely  had 
we  turned  our  backs  on  Wareham  (which  I  was  n't  sorry 
to  do),  when  I  cried  out  at  something  on  a  distant  height  — 
something  which  was  like  a  background  in  a  mediaeval 
picture.  It  was  Corfe  Castle,  of  which  I  'd  been  thinking 
ever  since  Amesbury,  because  of  the  wicked  Elfrida; 
but  the  glimpse  was  delusive,  for  the  dark  shape  hid  in 
a  moment,  and  we  did  n't  see  it  again  for  a  long  time  — 
not  until  our  curving  road  ran  along  underneath  the 
castle's  towering  hill.  Then  it  soared  up  with  imposing 
effect,  giving  an  impression  of  grisly  strength  which  was 
heightened  the  nearer  we  approached.  Distance  lends  no 


SET  IN  SILVER  177 

enchantment  to  Corfe,  for  the  castle  dominates  the  dour, 
gray  town  that  huddles  round  it,  and  is  never  nobler  than 
when  you  tap  for  admittance  at  its  gates. 

I  tried  to  think,  as  we  waited  to  go  in,  how  young 
Edward  felt  —  Edward  the  Martyr  —  when  he  stood  at 
the  gates,  waiting  to  go  in  and  visit  his  half-brother  whom 
he  loved,  and  his  step-mother  Elfrida,  whom  he  hated. 
He  never  left  the  castle  alive,  poor  boy!  Afterward, 
in  the  ruins,  I  went  to  the  window  where  Elfrida  was 
supposed  to  have  watched  the  young  king's  coming, 
before  she  ran  down  to  the  gates  and  directed  the  murder 
which  was  planned  to  give  her  own  son  the  kingdom. 
It  made  the  story  seem  almost  too  realistic,  because,  as 
you  often  tell  me,  my  imagination  carries  me  too  fast 
and  too  far.  There  's  nothing  easier  than  to  send  it  back 
ten  or  twelve  centuries  in  the  same  number  of  minutes  — 
and  it 's  such  a  cheap  way  of  travelling,  too ! 

Corfe  is  in  Dorset,  you  must  know,  a  county  as  different 
from  others  as  I  am  different  from  the  real  EUaline 
Lethbridge,  and  the  castle  is  at  the  very  centre  of  the  Isle 
of  Purbeck,  which  makes  it  seem  even  more  romantic  than 
it  would  otherwise.  I  'm  afraid  it  was  n't  really  even 
begun  hi  the  days  of  Elfrida,  or  "  ^Elfrith,"  who  had  only 
a  hunting  lodge  there;  but  if  people  will  point  out  her 
window,  am  I  to  blame  if  I  try  to  make  firm  belief  attract 
shy  facts?  Besides,  facts  are  such  dull  dogs  in  the  his- 
torical kennels  until  they  've  been  taught  a  few  tricks. 

Anyhow,  Corfe  is  Norman,  at  worst,  and  not  only  did 
King  John  keep  much  treasure  there,  but  one  supposes 
there  's  some  hidden  still.  If  I  could  only  have  found 
it,  I  *d  be  buying  a  castle  for  you  and  me  to  live  in.  Sir 


178  SET  IN  SILVER 

Lionel  thinks  that  I,  as  his  ward,  will  live  in  his  castle; 
and  he  was  telling  me  at  Corfe  about  the  Norman  tower 
at  Graylees.  But,  alas,  I  knew  better.  Oh,  I  did  n't 
mean  that  "alas"!  Consider  it  erased;  and  the  other 
silly  things  I  wrote  you  the  other  night,  please.  They  're 
all  so  useless. 

There  were  loads  of  interesting  prisoners  in  Corfe  Castle, 
at  one  time  or  another,  knights  from  France,  and  fair 
ladies,  the  fairest  of  all,  the  beautiful  "  Damsel  of  Brittany," 
who  had  claims  to  the  English  crown.  And  kings  have 
visited  there;  and  in  Cromwell's  day  a  lady  and  her 
daughters  successfully  defended  it  in  a  great  siege.  It 
was  such  a  splendid  and  brave  defence  that  it  seems  sad, 
even  to  this  day,  to  think  how  the  castle  fell  after  all,  a 
year  later,  and  to  see  the  great  stones  and  masses  of 
masonry  lying,  far  below  the  height,  exactly  where  they 
rolled  when  Parliament  ordered  the  conquered  towers  to 
be  blown  up  by  gunpowder.  The  Bankes  family,  who 
still  own  Corfe,  must  be  proud  of  that  Lady  Bankes, 
their  ancestress,  who  held  the  castle.  And  is  n't  it  nice, 
the  Bankes  still  have  the  old  keys,  where  they  live,  at 
Kingston  Lacy? 

You  like  Thomas  Hardy's  "  Hand  of  Ethelberta  "  next 
to  "Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd."  Well,  Coomb 
Castle  in  that  book  is  really  Corfe  Castle.  I  told  you  we 
were  in  Hardy  country.  After  Wareham,  and  not  very 
far  away,  at  Wool,  is  an  old,  old  manor-house  of  the 
Turbervilles,  turned  into  a  farmhouse  now.  You  don't 
need  to  be  reminded  of  what  Hardy  made  of  that,  I  know. 

We  lunched  at  an  interesting  old  inn,  like  all  the  rest 
of  the  ancient  houses  of  Corfe,  slate-roofed,  grim  and  gray. 


SET  IN  SILVER  179 

Then  we  coasted  down  the  steep  hill  to  the  plain  again, 
making  for  Swanage.  It  was  dusty,  but  we  were  n't 
sorry,  because,  just  when  we  were  travelling  rather  fast, 
on  a  perfectly  clear  road,  a  policeman  popped  out  like  a 
Jack-in-the-Box,  apparently  from  nowhere.  You  could 
tell  by  his  face  he  was  a  "trappist,"  as  Dick  calls  the 
motor-spies,  and  though  Sir  Lionel  was  n't  really  going 
beyond  the  legal  limit,  he  glared  at  our  number  as  if  he 
meant  mischief.  But  that  number-plate  had  thought- 
fully masked  itself  in  dust,  so  with  all  the  will  in  the  world 
he  could  work  us  no  harm  after  our  backs  were  turned. 
Once  in  a  while  it  does  seem  as  if  Nature  sympathized 
with  the  poor,  maligned  motorist  whom  nobody  loves,  and 
is  willing  to  throw  her  protection  over  him.  It  would  be 
like  tempting  Providence  to  polish  off  dust  or  mud,  in  such 
circumstances,  would  n't  it  ? 

My  face  was  a  different  matter,  though,  and  I  longed  to 
polish  it.  Before  we  got  to  Swanage,  it  felt  —  even  under 
chiffon  —  just  as  an  iced  cake  must  feel.  Only  the  cake, 
fortunately  for  its  contour,  never  needs  to  smile. 

We  were  going  to  Swanage  because  of  the  caves  — 
Tilly  Whim  Caves.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  them,  Paris- 
ienne  mamma?  Small  blame  to  you,  if  not,  be- 
cause one  can't  know  everything;  but  they  are  worth 
seeing;  and  the  Swanage  harbour  is  a  little  dream.  The 
town  is  good,  too.  Old-world,  and  very,  very  respect- 
able-looking, as  if  it  were  full  of  long-established  lawyers 
and  clergymen,  yet  not  dull,  like  Wareham,  which  was 
important  in  Saxon  days,  long  before  Swanage  was 
born  or  thought  of.  It 's  "  Knollsea "  in  the  "  Hand 
of  Ethelberta."  Do  you  remember?  And  Alfred  the 


180  SET  IN  SILVER 

Great  had  a  victory  close  by  —  so  close,  that  in  a  storm 
the  Danish  ships  blew  into  what  is  the  town  now,  as  if 
they  had  been  butterflies  with  their  wings  wet. 

We  climbed  up,  up  above  the  village,  in  the  motor-car, 
on  the  steepest,  twistingest  road  I  've  seen  yet  in  England, 
though  Sir  Lionel  says  I  '11  think  nothing  of  it  when  we 
get  into  Devonshire;  up,  up  to  a  high  place  where  they  've 
built  a  restaurant.  Near  by  we  left  the  motor  (and  Emily, 
who  never  walks  for  pleasure),  and  ho,  for  the  caves! 
It  was  a  scramble  among  dark  cliffs  of  Purbeck  limestone. 
The  caves  are  delightfully  weird,  and  of  course  there 
are  smuggling  stories  about  them.  A  strange  wind  blew 
through  their  labyrinths,  ceaselessly,  like  the  breathings 
of  a  hidden  giant,  betrayed  by  sleep.  It  was  heavenly 
cool  in  that  dim  twilight  that  never  knew  sun,  but  oh,  it 
was  hot  coming  out  into  the  afternoon  glare,  and  climbing 
the  steep  path  to  where  the  motor  waited!  I  think  Mrs. 
Senter  was  sorry  she  had  n't  stopped  with  Emily.  She 
got  a  horrid  headache,  and  felt  so  ill  that  Sir  Lionel  asked 
if  she  would  care  to  stop  all  night  at  Swanage,  and  she 
said  she  would. 

Fortunately,  it  turned  out  that  there  were  good  hotels, 
and  Sir  Lionel  took  rooms  at  the  one  we  liked  the  best  — 
old-fashioned  in  an  agreeable  way.  Mrs.  Senter  went  to 
bed,  but  the  rest  of  us  strolled  out  after  dinner;  and  Mrs. 
Norton  began  talking  to  Dick  about  his  mother,  which 
threw  Sir  Lionel  and  me  together. 

We  sat  on  the  pier,  where  tJie  moon  turned  bright  pink 
as  she  dipped  down  into  a  bank  of  clouds  like  a  rose- 
garden  growing  out  of  the  sea.  And  even  when  it  was 
dark,  the  sea  kept  its  colour,  the  deep  blue  of  sapphires, 


SET    IN  SILVER  181 

where,  at  a  distance,  little  white  yachts  and  sailboats  looked 
like  a  company  of  crescent  moons  floating  in  an  azure 
sky.  I  felt  in  the  sweetest  mood,  kind  toward  all  the 
world,  and  particularly  to  Sir  Lionel.  I  could  n't  bear 
to  remember  that  I  'd  ever  had  bad  thoughts,  and  doubts, 
so  I  was  half  sub-consciously  nicer  to  him  than  I  ever  was 
before.  Dick  kept  glaring  at  me,  from  his  seat  beside 
Mrs.  Norton,  and  drawing  his  eyebrows  together  when  he 
thought  Sir  Lionel  was  n't  looking.  Going  home,  he  got 
a  chance  for  a  few  words,  when  Emily  was  speaking  to 
her  brother  about  Mrs.  Senter's  headache.  He  said 
that  there  was  something  he  must  say  to  me,  alone,  and 
he  wanted  me  to  come  out  into  the  garden  behind  the  hotel, 
to  talk  to  him  when  the  others  had  gone  to  bed,  but  of 
course  I  refused.  Then  he  said,  would  I  manage  to  give 
him  a  few  minutes  next  day,  and  intimated,  gently, 
that  I  'd  be  sorry  if  I  did  n't.  I  told  him  that  "  I  'd 
see";  which  is  always  a  safe  answer;  but  I  haven't 
"managed"  yet. 

When  I  got  back  to  my  room  at  the  hotel  I  noticed  that 
some  of  my  things  were  n't  in  the  places  where  I  'd 
left  them;  and  the  writing  portfolio  in  a  dressing-case 
which  Sir  Lionel  thinks  is  mine,  but  is  really  Ellaline's 
(one  of  the  Bond  Street  purchases),  had  my  papers 
changed  about  in  it.  The  servants  in  the  house  seemed  so 
respectable  and  nice,  I  can't  think  that  one  of  them  would 
have  pried.  And  yet  — well,  the  truth  is,  I  'm  afraid  of 
being  catty,  but  I  can't  help  putting  Mrs.  Senter's  head- 
ache and  my  disturbed  papers  together  in  my  mind. 
Two  and  two  when  put  together,  make  four,  you  know. 
And  her  room  hi  the  Swanage  hotel  was  next  to  mine. 


182  SET  IN  SILVER 

She  might  have  been  sure  that  we  'd  all  go  out  after 
dinner  on  such  a  perfect  night.  But  why  should  she 
bother  ?  Unless  Dick  has  told  her  something,  after  all  ? 
I  suppose  I  shall  never  know  whether  it  was  she  or  some- 
one else  who  meddled.  I  looked  through  all  the  papers 
and  other  things,  but  could  find  nothing  "  compromising," 
as  the  adventuresses  say.  However,  I  can't  quite  remem- 
ber what  I  had.  Some  letter  may  have  been  taken.  I  have 
been  a  tiny  bit  worried  since,  for  you  know  Ellaline  would 
never  forgive  me  if  anything  should  go  wrong  now. 
And  I  've  been  thinking  that,  though  Sir  Lionel  is  no 
dragon,  there  may  be  something  about  Honore  du 
Guesclin  which  he  would  n't  approve.  Ellaline  may 
even  have  her  own  reasons  for  thinking  he  would  n't 
approve,  dragon  or  no  dragon.  Very  likely  she 
did  n't  tell  me  everything  —  she  was  so  anxious  to  have 
her  own  way. 

But  to  go  back  to  the  journey  here.  Almost  each  mile  we 
travelled  gave  us  some  thought  of  Hardy,  and  acquainted 
me  with  the  character  of  Dorset,  which  is  just  what  I 
expected  from  his  books :  giant  trees ;  tall,  secretive  hedges ; 
high  brick  walls,  mellow  with  age  and  curtained  with  ivy; 
stone  cottages,  solid  and  prosperous  and  old,  with  queer 
little  bay-windows,  diamond-paned ;  Purbeck  granite 
bursting  through  the  grass  of  meadows,  and  making  a 
grave  background  for  brilliant  flowers;  heaths  that  Hardy 
wrote  about  in  the  "Return  of  the  Native" — heaths, 
heaths,  and  rolling  downs. 

We  took  the  way  from  Swanage  to  West  Lulworth,  and 
had  an  adventure  on  a  hill.  Sir  Lionel  is  very  strict  with 
his  little  Buddha  about  examining  everything  that  could 


SET  IN  SILVER  183 

possibly  go  wrong  with  the  motor,  and  just  before  we 
started,  I  heard  him  ask  Young  Nick  if  he  had  looked  at 
the  brakes  after  our  descent  from  Tilly  Whim.  "Oh, 
yes,  sahib,"  said  the  brown  image.  "Oh,  no!"  said  the 
brakes  themselves,  on  a  big  hill,  as  far  from  the  madding 
crowd  as  "  Gabriel "  and  "  Bathsheba  "  ever  lived.  We  'd 
got  lost,  and  that  was  the  way  the  car  punished  us.  First 
of  all,  the  motor  refused  to  work.  That  made  Apollo 
feel  faint,  so  that  he  began  to  run  backward  down  the 
hill  instead  of  going  up;  and  when  Sir  Lionel  put  on  the 
brakes,  they  would  n't  act. 

It  was  the  first  time  anything  really  bad  had  happened, 
and  my  heart  gave  a  jump,  but  somehow  I  was  n't  fright- 
ened. With  Sir  Lionel  driving,  it  seemed  as  if  no  harm 
could  come;  and  it  did  n't,  for  he  steered  to  the  side  of  the 
road,  and  brought  the  car  up  short  against  a  great  hum- 
mock of  grass.  All  the  same,  we  nearly  tipped  over,  and  Sir 
Lionel  told  us  to  jump.  I  should  n't  have  stirred  if  he 
hadn't  spoken.  I  should  have  awaited  orders;  but  the 
others  were  moving  before  we  stopped,  and  Mrs.  Senter 
fell  down  and  bumped  her  knee.  That  made  her  hair  come 
partly  undone,  and,  to  my  horror,  a  bunch  of  the  dearest 
little  curls,  which  I  always  thought  lived  there,  were 
loosened.  There  was  a  great  wind  blowing,  and  in  a 
second  more  the  curls  would  have  been  on  the  horizon,  if 
I  had  n't  seized  them  just  as  they  were  about  to  take 
flight.  If  they  'd  gone,  they  must  have  passed  almost  in 
front  of  Sir  Lionel's  nose,  on  their  way.  Would  n't  that 
have  been  dreadful  ?  I  should  think  she  could  never 
have  looked  him  in  the  face  again,  for  her  hair 's  her  great- 
est beauty,  and  she  's  continually  saying  things  about  its 


184  SET  IN  SILVER 

being  all  her  own,  and  having  more  than  she  knows  what 
to  do  with. 

But  luckily  his  back  was  turned  when  I  caught  the 
curls,  and  stuffed  them  hastily  into  her  hand  before  she  was 
on  her  feet,  nobody  seeing  except  Dick.  I  suppose  a 
nephew  does  n't  count!  But  do  you  know,  dear,  if  they  'd 
been  my  curls,  I  believe  she  'd  have  loved  Sir  Lionel  to 
see  them.  I  don't  like  her  a  bit,  but  all  the  more  I 
could  n't  be  mean.  I  reserve  all  my  cattyness  toward 
her  for  my  letters  to  you,  when  I  let  myself  go,  and 
stretch  my  little  nails  in  my  velvet  paw. 

I  was  sorry  for  Young  Nick!  He  was  miserably 
sheepish,  and  vowed  that  he  really  had  examined  the 
brakes.  Sir  Lionel  just  looked  at  him,  and  raised  his 
eyebrows;  that  was  all,  because  he  would  n't  scold  the 
poor  little  wretch  before  us. 

It  was  as  much  as  the  three  men  could  do  to  get  Apollo 
down  on  his  four  tyres  again,  for,  though  he  seemed  as 
lightly  balanced  as  an  eccentric  dancer  trying  to  touch 
one  eyelid  to  the  floor,  he  was  partly  embedded  in  the 
bank  by  the  roadside.  Then  we  all  sat  gracefully  about, 
while  Sir  Lionel  and  the  chauffeur  worked  — Young  Nick 
under  the  car,  looking  sometimes  like  a  contortionist 
tying  himself  into  lover's  knots,  sometimes  like  a  min- 
iature Michelangelo  lying  on  his  back  to  paint  a  fresco. 
I  hope,  though,  that  Michael  never  had  half  the  trouble 
finding  his  paints  and  brushes  that  Nick  had  to  get  at  his 
tommies  and  jemmies,  and  dozens  of  strange  little  instru- 
ments. He  lay  with  his  mouth  bristling  with  giant  pins, 
and  had  the  air  of  a  conscientious  dentist  filling  a  difficult 
tooth. 


SET  IN  SILVER  185 

It  was  a  long  time  before  the  brakes  were  properly 
tightened  up  and  the  four  cylinders  breathing  freely 
again;  but  it  would  have  been  ungracious  to  be  bored  in 
such  a  glorious  wild  place,  in  such  glorious  weather. 
There  was  a  kind  of  Walt  Whitman  feeling  in  the  air 
that  made  me  want  to  sing;  and  finally  I  could  resist 
no  longer.  I  burst  out  with  those  verses  of  his  which 
you  set  to  music  for  me.  At  least,  I  sang  a  few 
bars;  and  you  ought  to  have  seen  Sir  Lionel  wheel 
round  and  look  at  me  when  he  heard  my  voice.  I 
never  said  anything  to  him  about  knowing  how  to  sing, 
so  he  was  surprised. 

"Why,  you  have  quite  a  pretty  voice,  Ellaline!"  said 
Mrs.  Norton. 

"'Quite  a  pretty  voice!'  I  should  say  she  had!" 
remarked  Sir  Lionel.  He  did  n't  say  any  more.  But  I 
never  had  a  compliment  I  liked  better;  and  I  did  n't  mind 
a  bit  when  Mrs.  Senter  remarked  that  anyone  would  fancy 
I  was  a  professional. 

I  was  almost  sorry  to  go  on  at  last,  though  Emily  was 
worrying  lest  we  should  get  no  lunch.  But  we  saw 
beautiful  things  as  we  spun  toward  Lulworth,  rushing  so 
swiftly  along  an  empty  road  that  the  hedges  roared  past 
us  like  dark  cataracts.  It  was  thrilling,  and  showed 
what  Apollo  could  do  when  he  chose.  If  there  had  been 
a  soul  on  the  road,  of  course  we  would  n't  have  done 
such  deeds;  though  I  must  say,  from  what  I  've  seen,  if 
you  creep  along  so  as  not  to  kick  up  a  dust  and  annoy 
people,  they  aren't  at  all  grateful,  but  only  scorn  instead 
of  hating  you,  and  think  you  can't  go  faster,  or  you  would. 
Still,  you  have  the  consciousness  of  innocence.  One  thing 


186  SET  IN  SILVER 

we  saw  was  a  delightful  Tudor  house,  called  Creech 
Grange;  and  the  ancestor  of  the  man  who  owns  it  built 
Bond  Street.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  'm  glad 
he  did.  We  took  the  valley  way  on  purpose  to  see  the 
Grange,  instead  of  going  over  Ring  Hill  and  other  windy 
heights,  but  it  was  worth  the  sacrifice. 

Lulworth  Castle,  which  we  passed,  is  rather  like 
Graylees,  Sir  Lionel  said;  so  now  I  wish  more  than  ever 
that  I  could  see  Graylees,  for  Lulworth  is  fine  and  feudal. 
But  I  shall  have  burst  like  a  bubble  before  the  time  comes 
for  Graylees. 

There!  I  have  brought  you  with  us  to  Lulworth 
Cove,  at  last  —  the  adorable  little  place  where,  at 
this  moment,  as  I  told  you  at  the  beginning  of  my 
letter,  I  'm  sitting  on  the  beach  among  red  and  green 
fishing  boats. 

You  would  n't  dream  of  Lulworth's  existence  until 
it  suddenly  breaks  on  you,  and  you  see  the  blue  bay 
lying  asleep  in  the  arms  of  giant  rocks,  which  appear 
to  have  had  a  violent  convulsion  without  disturbing  the 
baby  sheet  of  water.  I  suppose  they  were  angry  with  the 
world  for  finding  out  their  secret;  for  it  has  found  out, 
and  loves  to  come  to  Lulworth  Cove.  However,  the  place 
contrives  to  look  as  unknown  as  ever,  as  if  only  some  lazy 
gulls  and  a  few  fishermen  mending  lobster-pots  had  ever 
heard  a  hint  of  it.  There  's  a  narrow  street;  a  few  pretty 
old  cottages;  a  comfortable  hotel  where  we  had  crabs, 
divine  though  devilled,  and  omelette  au  rhum  floating  in 
flames  of  the  blue  I  should  like  my  eyes  to  be  when  angnr ; 
there  's  a  post-office,  and  —  nothing  else  that  I  can  thi«_r 
of,  except  circling  hills,  a  golden  sweep  of  beach,  and  sea 


SET  IN  SILVER  187 

of    ethereal    azure    creaming    against    contorted    rocks. 
That 's  all;  but  it 's  a  little  Paradise,  and 

Night,  of  the  same  day. 

Just  there  I  was  interrupted.  Dick  Burden  came, 
and  I  had  to  listen  to  him,  unless  I  wanted  a  scene.  I 
could  n't  appeal  to  any  nice  brown  fisherman  to  please 
feed  him  to  the  lobsters,  so  I  sat  still  and  let  him  talk. 
He  said  that  he  was  awfully  in  love  with  me.  A  charming 
fashion  he  's  taken  to  show  it,  has  n't  he  ?  As  I  remarked 
to  him. 

He  replied  in  the  old,  old  way,  about  all  being  fair,  etc., 
etc.  I  asked  him  which  it  was,  love  or  war,  and  he  said 
it  was  both.  He  knew  I  wasn't  in  love  (I  should 
think  not,  indeed!),  but  he  wanted  me  to  promise 
to  be  engaged  to  him  from  now  on. 

"I  won't,"  said  I  —  short  and  sudden,  like  that. 

"You  '11  jolly  well  have  to,"  said  he.  Then  he  pro- 
ceeded to  warn  me  that  if  I  did  n't,  my  friend  Miss 
Ellaline  Lethbridge  must  look  out  for  herself,  because  I 
would  no  longer  be  in  a  position  to  guard  her  interests. 

I  mentioned  that  he  was  a  perfect  beast,  and  he  said  it 
might  be  true,  but  I  was  a  deceiver,  and  it  was  not  good 
taste  for  the  pot  to  call  the  kettle  black. 

"I  'd  rather  go  into  the  kind  of  convent  where  one  's 
not  allowed  to  speak  a  word  all  one's  life,  except  'Memento 
mori,'  than  marry  you,"  said  I,  politely. 

But  it  seemed  that  he  was  n't  thinking  so  much  about 
being  married,  as  just  being  engaged.  As  to  marrying,  we 
were  both  very  young,  and  he  would  wait  for  me  till  we 
could  afford  to  marry,  which  might  n't  be  for  some  time 


188  SET  IN  SILVER 

yet,  he  explained.  What  he  was  keen  on  beginning  at 
once,  was  being  engaged. 

"Why?"  I  asked,  savagely. 

"Because  I  don't  want  anyone  else  to  think  he  has  a 
chance.  That 's  the  plain  truth,"  said  Dick,  in  the  most 
brazen  way. 

That  staggered  me;  for  he  was  glaring  straight  into  my 
eyes  in  such  a  meaning  way  I  could  n't  help  understand- 
ing who  was  in  his  mind.  So  utterly  ridiculous!  As  if 
the  person  he  meant  would  ever  think  of  me !  And  Dick 
used  to  say  himself  that  Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  took  no 
interest  in  girls,  or  any  women  except  Mrs.  Senter.  I  'd 
have  liked  to  remind  him  of  this,  only  I  would  n't  let  him 
see  that  I  read  his  thoughts. 

"  I  believe  you  must  be  mad,"  said  I. 

"  I  should  n't  wonder,"  said  he.  "  Anyhow,  I  'm  mad 
enough  to  go  straight  to  Sir  Lionel  with  the  whole  story  the 
minute  he  comes  back  from  his  walk  with  his  sister  and 
my  aunt,  unless  you  do  what  I  want." 

"That  won't  be  very  nice  for  Mrs.  Senter,"  I  tem- 
porized, "  if  she  's  enjoying  this  trip  she  was  so  anxious 
to  take;  for  if  Sir  Lionel  knows  about  Ellaline  the  tour 
will  probably  break  up,  and  he  '11  rush  over  to  France. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  will  be  nice  for  her,"  Dick  returned, 
*'  because  many  a  heart  is  caught  in  the  rebound." 

I  said  that  this  argument  was  too  intricate  for  me,  but 
it  was  n't  really.  I  knew  quite  well  what  he  meant,  though 
of  course  he  is  absolutely  mistaken,  as  far  as  Sir  Lionel's 
feelings  toward  me  are  concerned.  But  I  had  to  think 
quickly,  and  I  thought  maybe  he  was  right  about  his 
aunt.  She  would  be  a  woman  who  would  make  any  use 


SET  IN  SILVER  189 

of  an  emergency.  And  once  she  had  compromised  poor 
Sir  Lionel,  it  would  be  too  late,  for  I  have  an  idea  he  'd 
be  exaggeratedly  honourable. 

You  may  smile  at  my  saying  she  'd  compromise  him. 
But  you  know  what  I  mean.  I  'm  not  sure  /do  —  but 
anyhow,  I  could  n't  bear  to  have  her  do  it,  especially  if  it 
could  be  prevented  by  me.  I  sat  still  a  minute, 
reflecting,  and  then  asked  Dick  what  he  meant  by  "  being 
engaged." 

He  replied  that  he  meant  the  usual  thing;  and  I  replied 
to  this  that  nothing  could  tempt  me.  He  saw  I  would  n't 
go  back  from  my  word,  so  he  promised,  if  I  would  be 
engaged,  that  he  'd  not  try  even  to  hold  my  hand  until  I 
should  be  willing.  All  he  would  ask  was,  that  he  might 
tell  his  aunt  we  had  a  "  kind  of  a,  sort  of  an  understanding," 
which  might  develop  into  an  engagement,  and  let  her  tell 
Sir  Lionel.  Nothing  more  than  that;  and  why  should  I 
mind,  when  in  any  case  there  could  never  have  been  a 
question  of  my  marrying  Sir  L.  ? 

I  said  I  did  mind  horribly,  but  not  on  that  account, 
and  I  should  never  marry  anyone.  I  was  almost  ready 
to  cry,  I  felt  so  wretched.  I  don't  think  I  was  ever  as 
miserable  in  my  life,  dear;  though,  when  I  come  to  argue 
it  out  with  myself,  I  've  pretended  so  much  to  please 
Ellaline,  it  ought  n't  to  matter,  pretending  a  little  more. 

Just  then  all  three  of  the  others  came  along,  and  seeing 
us  on  the  beach,  joined  us.  Dick  put  on  a  familiar  air 
with  me,  as  if  he  had  rights,  and  I  saw  Sir  Lionel  glance 
from  me  to  him,  and  draw  his  eyebrows  together. 

I  came  indoors  then,  to  my  room,  and  did  n't  go  out 
again  till  dinner  time.  I  was  half  afraid  Mrs.  Senter 


190  SET  IN  SILVER 

might  already  have  got  in  her  deadly  work,  but  if  she  had, 
Sir  Lionel  did  n't  say  anything  to  me.  Only  it  was  a 
horrid  dinner,  in  spite  of  nice,  seaside  things  to  eat. 
Nobody  spoke  much,  and  I  felt  so  choked  I  could  hardly 
swallow. 

Oh,  I  am  homesick  for  you,  dear.  I  hurried  upstairs, 
as  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  saying  I  had  letters  to  write. 
To-morrow,  early,  we  start  for  Sidmouth,  in  Devonshire, 
going  by  way  of  Weymouth  and  Dorchester.  As  I  write, 
looking  from  my  window,  across  which  I  have  n't  drawn 
the  curtains,  I  can  see  Sir  Lionel  and  Mrs.  Senter  strolling 
out  of  the  hotel,  toward  the  beach.  There  's  a  lovely  blue 
dusk,  which  the  sunset  struck  into  a  million  glorious 
sparks,  and  then  let  fade  again  into  a  dull  glow,  like  ashes 
of  roses.  They  look  a  romantic  couple  walking  together. 
I  wonder  if  they  are  talking  about  each  other,  to  each 
other,  or  —  about  Dick  and  me?  I  feel  as  if  I  should  have 
to  scream  —  " Sir  Lionel,  don't  believe  it.  It  is  n't  true!" 
But  of  course,  I  can't.  I  think  I  shall  go  to  bed,  and  then 
I  won't  be  tempted  to  look  out  of  the  window. 

Always  your  own  loving 

AUDRIE. 

Please  write  at  once,  and  address  Poste  Restante, 
Torquay. 


XIV 

SIR  LIONEL  PENDRAGON  TO  COLONEL  PATRICK 
O'HAGAN 

Knoll  Park  Hotel,  Sidmouth,  Devon 
August  2nd,  Evening 

MY  DEAR  PAT:  I  am  a  fool.  By  this  time  you  will 
soon  be  receiving  my  first  letter,  and  saying  to  yourself,, 
"  He  is  on  the  way  to  being  a  fool."  Well,  I  am  already 
that  fool.  I  did  n't  see  where  I  was  drifting,  but  I  see 
now  that  it  had  begun  then;  and  of  course  you,  a  spec- 
tator, won't  be  dense  as  I  was  at  first.  You  will  know. 

I  did  n't  suppose  this  thing  could  happen  to  me  again. 
I  thought  I  was  safe.  But  at  forty,  it 's  worse  with  me 
than  when  I  was  twenty-one. 

I  don't  need  to  explain.  Yet  I  will  say  in  self-defence 
that,  fool  as  I  am,  I  am  not  going  to  let  anyone  but  you 
know  that  I  'm  a  fool.  Especially  the  girl.  She  would 
be  thunderstruck.  Not  that  girls  of  nineteen  have  n't 
married  men  of  forty,  and  perhaps  cared  for  them.  But 
this  girl  has  been  brought  up  since  her  babyhood  to  think 
of  me  as  her  guardian,  and  an  elderly  person  beyond  the 
pale  where  love  or  even  flirtation  is  concerned.  Imagine 
a  daughter  and  namesake  of  Ellaline  de  Nesville  being  in 
the  society  of  a  man,  and  not  trying  to  flirt  with  him! 
It 's  almost  inconceivable.  But  Ellaline  the  second 
191 


192  SET  IN  SILVER 

shows  not  the  slightest  inclination  to  flirt  with  me.  She 
is  gentle,  sweet,  charming,  even  obedient;  perhaps  I 
might  say  daughterly,  if  I  were  willing  to  hurt  my  own 
feelings.  Therefore,  even  without  Mr.  Dick  Burden's 
oppressive  respect  for  me,  I  must  suppose  that  I  am 
regarded  as  a  generation  behind. 

By  the  way,  that  young  beast  made  me  a  present  of  a 
cane  the  other  day.  Not  an  ordinary  stick,  but  an  old 
gentleman's  cane,  with  a  gold  head  on  it.  He  said  he 
saw  it  in  a  shop  at  Weymouth,  where  we  stopped  for  lunch, 
and  thought  it  so  handsome,  he  begged  that  I  would 
accept  it.  His  aunt  laughed,  called  him  a  ridiculous 
little  boy,  and  advised  me  to  have  "  Thou  shalt  not  steal " 
engraved  on  a  gold  band,  with  my  name  and  address. 
This  was  to  soothe  my  amour  propre;  but,  while  I  wonder 
whether  the  thing  really  is  a  gift  suitable  to  my  years, 
I  long  to  lay  it  across  the  giver's  back.  He  gave  it  to  me 
before  Ellaline,  too.  What  an  idiot  I  am  to  care!  I 
can  laugh,  for  my  sense  of  humour  has  n't  yet  jilted 
me,  if  my  good  sense  has.  But  the  laugh  is  on  the  wrong 
side  of  my  mouth. 

I  feel  somewhat  better,  having  confessed  my  foolishness 
—  which  you  would  have  divined  without  the  confession. 
The  girl  doesn't  suspect.  I  enact  the  "heavy  father" 
even  more  ostentatiously  than  if  I  were  n't  ass  enough  to 
prefer  a  role  for  which  time  and  our  relationship  have 
unfitted  me.  But  it 's  rather  curious,  is  n't  it,  what  power 
one  little  woman  can  wield  over  a  man's  life,  even  the  life 
of  a  man  who  is  as  far  as  possible  from  being  a  "woman's 
man"  ?  Ellaline  de  Nesville  pretty  well  spoiled  my  early 
youth,  or  would  if  I  had  n't  freed  myself  to  take  up  other 


SET  IN  SILVER  195 

interests.  She  burdens  the  remainder  of  my  young  years 
by  making  me,  willy  nilly,  the  guardian  of  her  child. 
And,  not  content  with  that,  she  (indirectly)  destroys 
what  might  have  been  the  comfortable  contentment 
of  my  middle  age. 

Women  are  the  devil.  All  but  this  one  —  and  she 
is  n't  a  woman  yet. 

The  dangerous  part  is  that  I  am  not  as  grimly  unhappy 
as  I  ought  to  be.  There  are  moments,  hours,  when  I 
forget  that  there  's  any  obstacle  dividing  Ellaline's  future 
from  mine.  I  think  of  her  as  belonging  to  me.  I  feel 
that  she  is  to  be  a  part  of  my  life  always,  as  she  is  now. 
And  until  I  have  again  drummed  it  into  my  rebellious 
head  that  she  is  not  for  me,  that  my  business  with  her  is 
to  see  that  she  gets  a  rich,  well-born,  and  well-looking 
young  husband,  not  more  than  two-thirds  of  my  age,  I 
enjoy  myself  hugely  in  her  nearness. 

But,  why  not,  after  all?  Just  for  the  length  of  this 
tour  in  the  motor-car,  which  throws  us  so  constantly 
together?  As  long  as  I  don't  betray  myself,  why  not? 
Why  not  revel  in  borrowed  sunshine?  At  Graylees,  I 
can  turn  over  a  new  leaf;  I  need  see  very  little  of  her  there. 
She  and  Emily  will  have  plenty  to  do,  with  their  social 
duties,  and  I  shall  have  my  own.  Let  me  be  a  fool  in 
peace  till  Graylees,  then.  If  I  can  be  a  fool  in  peace! 

Talking  of  borrowed  sunshine,  England  seems  to  have 
borrowed  an  inexhaustible  supply  from  some  more  "  fav- 
oured clime"  this  summer.  I  dare  say  we  shall  have  to 
pay  for  it  later.  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  my  private  supply, 
too  —  but  no  matter. 

Next  to  my  native  Cornwall,  I  think  I  prefer  Devon- 


194  SET  IN  SILVER 

shire;  and   Devonshire   is   being  particularly  kind   and 
hospitable,  offering  us  her  choicest  gifts. 

It 's  said  that  the  Earth  is  a  host  who  murders  all  his 
guests.  But  he  certainly  gives  some  of  us,  for  some  of 
the  time,  glorious  innings  during  our  visit  to  him.  I 
don't  complain,  though  my  stay  so  far  has  been  accom- 
panied by  a  good  deal  of  stormy  weather. 

I  remember  your  once  remarking  that  Weymouth 
would  be  a  good  place  to  hide  in,  if  you  wanted  to  grow 
a  beard  or  anything  lingering  and  unbecoming;  but  you 
wouldn't  make  that  remark  now:  there  are  too  many 
pretty  women  in  the  nice,  tranquil  old  town.  Just  at 
this  season  it 's  far  from  dull,  and  walking  along  the 
Esplanade,  while  young  Nick  mended  a  tyre,  I  understood 
something  of  George  the  Third's  fondness  for  the  place. 
Certainly  vanity  would  n't  permit  you  to  show  your  nose 
on-  parade  or  beach,  in  these  times,  during  the  beard- 
growing  process,  for  there  's  apparently  no  hour  of  the  day 
when  a  lively  scene  is  n't  being  enacted  on  both:  the  sands 
thickly  dotted  with  tents ;  charming  girls  bathing,  chubby 
children  playing,  pretty  women  reading  novels  under  red 
parasols,  fishermen  selling  silver-scaled  fish,  boatmen 
soliciting  custom;  the  parade  crowded  with  "trippers," 
soldiers  and  sailors;  the  wide  road  noisy  with  motor-cars 
and  motor- 'buses ;  even  the  sea  gay  with  boats  of  all  de- 
scriptions, and  at  least  one  big  war  vessel  hovering  in  the 
distance.  Besides,  there  is  the  clock-tower.  I  don't  know 
why  I  like  it  so  much,  but  I  do.  I  have  a  feeling  that 
Weymouth  would  be  worth  a  visit  for  the  sake  of  that 
clock  alone;  and  then  there  's  the  extraordinary  historical 
and  geological  interest,  which  no  other  watering-place  has. 


SET  IN  SILVER  195 

Burden  was  anxious  to  go  over  to  Portland,  lured  there, 
no  doubt,  by  the  incipient  detective  talent  of  which  he 
boasts ;  but  the  ladies  voted  it  too  sad  a  place  to  see,  on  an 
excursion  of  pleasure,  and  perhaps  they  were  right.  The 
sort  of  woman  who  would  like  to  go  and  spend  a  happy 
afternoon  staring  at  a  lot  of  unfortunate  wretches  dressed 
in  a  pattern  of  broad  arrows,  would  go  "slumming"  out 
of  idle  curiosity;  and  I  have  always  thought  I  could  not 
love  a  woman  who  amused  herself  by  slumming,  any 
more  than  I  could  love  one  who  eagerly  patronized  bull- 


Thomas  Hardy's  work  is  too  near  Nature's  heart  to 
appeal  to  Mrs.  Senter,  and  too  clever  for  my  good  sister 
Emily,  who  will  read  no  author,  willingly,  unless  he  calls 
a  spade  a  pearl-headed  hatpin.  But  Ellaline,  strange 
to  say,  has  been  allowed  to  read  him.  Evidently  French 
schools  are  not  what  they  once  were;  and  she  and  I  par- 
ticularly wanted  to  go  through  Dorchester  (his  Caster- 
bridge)  even  though  we  could  see  nothing  of  Hardy's 
place,  Max  Gate,  except  its  tree-tops.  A  pity  more 
English  towns  have  n't  made  boulevards  of  their  earth- 
works (since  there  are  plenty  that  have  earthworks), 
planting  them  with  chestnuts  and  sycamores,  as  Dorchester 
has  cleverly  done.  It  was  an  idea  worthy  of  a  "Mayor 
of  Caster  bridge."  We  lingered  a  bit,  in  the  car,  picking 
out  "landmarks"  of  resemblance  to  the  book,  and 
there  were  plenty.  You  know,  there 's  a  magnificent 
Roman  amphitheatre  near  by;  but  did  we  stay  to  look  at  it  ? 
My  friend,  we  are  motorists!  And  it  happened  to  be  a 
grand  day  with  the  car,  which,  though  still  very  new,  has 
"  found  "  itself.  "  Apollo  "  seemed  a  steed  of  "  pure  air 


196  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  fire;  and  the  dull  elements  of  earth  and  water  never 
appear  in  him."  He  chafed  against  stopping,  and  I 
humoured  him  gladly. 

"  Strange,"  said  Ellaline,  yesterday,  "  how  a  person  will 
pay  Ipts  of  money  to  buy  a  motor-car,  and  go  tearing  about 
the  world  at  great  expense,  to  gratify  two  little  black  or 
blue  holes  in  his  face;  and  then,  instead  of  letting  the 
holes  thoroughly  absorb  his  money's  worth,  he  will  rush 
past  some  of  the  best  things  on  earth  rather  than  'spoil 
a  run.' "  But  she  does  n't  take  the  intoxication  of  ozone 
into  consideration  in  this  indictment. 

Our  road  was  of  the  best,  and  always  interesting,  with 
some  fine  distant  views,  and  here  and  there  an  avenue  of 
trees  like  a  vast  Gothic  aisle  in  a  cathedral.  "  We  could 
see  things  so  nicely  if  it  weren't  for  the  mists!"  sighed 
Emily,  who,  if  her  wish  had  been  a  broom,  would  have 
ruthlessly  swept  away  those  lacy  cobwebs  clinging  to 
the  hill-sides.  "Why,"  replied  Ellaline,  "you  could 
see  a  bride's  face  more  clearly  if  you  took  away  her  veil, 
but  it 's  the  prettiest  thing  about  her."  That  put  my 
feelings  in  a  nutshell.  England  would  be  no  bride  for  me 
if  she  threw  away  her  veil;  and  nowhere  did  it  become  her 
more  than  in  Dorset,  Somerset,  and  Devon,  where  it  is 
threaded  with  gold  and  embroidered  with  jewels  toward 
the  edge  of  sunset. 

Of  course,  there 's  only  the  most  fanciful  dividing 
line  between  Somerset  and  Devon,  yet  I  imagine  the 
two  counties  different  in  their  attributes,  as  well  as  in 
their  graces.  Surely  in  Somerset  the  Downs  are  on  a 
grander  scale.  Between  two  of  them  you  are  in  a  valley, 
and  think  that  you  see  mountains.  In  Devonshire  you 


SET  IN  SILVER  197 

have  wider  horizons,  save  for  the  lanes  and  hedges, 
which  do  their  best  to  keep  straying  eyes  fastened  on 
their  own  beauty. 

I  suppose  men  who  never  have  left  England  take  such 
beauty  for  granted,  but  to  me,  after  the  flaunting  luxu- 
riance of  the  East,  it  is  enchanting.  I  notice  everything. 
I  want  someone,  who  cares  for  it  as  I  do,  to  admire  it  with 
me.  If  it  were  n't  for  Dick  Burden  this  England  would 
be  making  me  twenty-one  again. 

You  should  see,  to  understand  me,  all  the  lovely  things 
fighting  sportively  for  supremacy  in  these  Devonshire 
hedges;  the  convolvulus  pretending  to  throttle  the  honey- 
suckle; the  honeysuckle  shaking  creamy  fists  in  the  faces 
of  roses  that  push  out,  blushing  in  the  starlight  of  wild 
clematis,  white  and  purple.  Such  gentle  souls,  these 
Devonshire  roses!  Kind  and  innocent,  like  the  sweet,, 
sentimental  "Evelinas"  of  old-fashioned  stories,  yet  full 
of  health,  and  tingling  with  buds,  as  a  young  girl  witL 
fancies. 

Devonshire  seems  to  express  herself  in  flowers,  asr 
sterner  counties  do  in  trees  and  rocks.  Even  the  children 
one  meets  playing  in  the  road  are  flowers.  They  are  to 
the  pretty  cottages  what  the  sweetbriar  is  to  the  hedges; 
and  no  background  could  be  daintier  for  the  little  human, 
blossoms  than  those  same  thatched  cottages  with  openr 
welcoming  doors. 

Ellaline,  fascinated  by  glimpses  through  open  doors  — 
(old  oak  dressers  set  with  blue  and  white  china;  ancient 
clocks  with  peering  moon-faces;  high-backed  chairs; 
bright  flowers  in  gilt  vases  on  gate-legged  tables,  all  ob- 
scurely seen  through  rich  brown  shadows) — says  she 


198  SET  IN  SILVER 

would  like  to  live  in  such  a  cottage  with  somebody  she 
loved.  Who  will  that  somebody  be?  I  constantly 
wonder.  I  should  think  less  of  her  if  it  could  be  Dick 
Burden,  or  one  of  his  type,  yet  Mrs.  Senter  hints  that  the 
girl  likes  his  society.  Can  she  ? 

We  had  a  picnic  luncheon  on  our  way  to  Sidmouth, 
lingering  rather  long  (once  you  have  stopped  your  motor, 
nothing  matters.  If  you  're  happy,  you  are  as  reluctant 
to  go  on  as  you  are  to  stop  when  going).  Then,  as  they 
all  wished  to  travel  by  moonlight,  I  suggested  that  dinner 
also  should  be  a  picnic.  We  bought  food  and  drink  at 
Honiton,  and  the  country  being  exquisite  between  there 
and  Sidmouth,  we  soon  found  a  moss-carpeted,  tree- 
roofed  dining-room,  fit  for  an  emperor.  Nearby  glim- 
mered a  sheet  of  blue-bells,  lite  a  blue  underground  lake 
that  had  broken  through  and  flooded  the  meadow. 
Ellaline  said  she  would  like  to  wash  her  face  in  it,  as  if 
in  a  fairy  cosmetic,  to  make  her  "beautiful  forever." 
I  really  don't  believe  she  knows  that  would  be  super- 
fluous trouble!  And  a  fairy,  godmother  has  given  her 
the  gift  of  song.  I  wish  you  could  hear  her  sing,  Pat. 
I  have  heard  her  only  once;  but  if  I  had  n't  been  a 
fool  already,  I  'd  have  become  one  then,  beyond  recall. 

So  we  sat  there,  on  the  still,  blue  brink  of  twilight,  till 
the  moon  rose  red  as  a  molten  helmet,  and  cooled  to  a 
silver  bowl  as  she  sailed  higher,  dripping  light.  But 
tell  me  this :  Would  I  think  of  such  similes  if  I  were  n't 
like  a  man  who  has  eaten  hasheesh  and  filled  his  brain 
with  a  fantastic  tumult  —  a  magical  vision  of  romance, 
such  as  his  heart  never  knew  in  its  youth,  never  can  know 
except  in  visions,  now  that  youth  has  passed  ?  There  's 


SET  IN  SILVER  199 

joy  as  well  as  pain  in  the  vision,  though,  I  can  tell  you,  as 
there  must  be  in  any  mirage.  And  it  was  in  a  mirage 
of  moonlight  and  mystery  that  we  took  up  our  journey 
again,  after  that  second  picnic,  swooping  bird -like,  from 
hill  to  valley,  on  our  way  to  the  Knoll  Park  Hotel. 

It 's  an  historic  place,  by  the  way,  with  an  interesting 
past  —  once  it  was  a  country  house  belonging  to  an 
eccentric  gentleman  —  and  at  present  it  is  extremely 
ornamental  among  its  lawns  and  Lebanon  cedars. 

As  for  Sidmouth  the  town,  you  have  but  to  enter  it  to 
feel  that  you  are  walking  in  a  quaint  old  coloured  litho- 
graph —  one  of  the  eighteenth-century  sort,  you  know, 
that  the  artist  invariably  dedicated,  with  extravagant 
humility,  to  a  marquis,  if  he  did  n't  know  a  duke! 

There  's  no  architecture  whatever.  As  far  as  that  is  con- 
cerned, children  might  have  built  the  original  village 
of  Sidmouth  as  they  sat  playing  on  the  beach;  but  the 
queer  cottages,  with  their  low  brows  of  mouse-coloured 
thatch,  protruding  amid  absurd  battlements,  have  a 
fantastic  charm.  They  are  most  engaging,  with  their 
rustic-framed  bow-windows,  like  surprised-looking  eyes 
in  spectacles;  their  green  veranda-eyebrows,  and  their 
smiling,  yellow-stucco  faces,  with  low  foreheads.  The 
house  where  Queen  Victoria  stopped  as  a  little  girl  is  a 
great  show  place,  of  course,  and  is  like  a  toy  flung  down 
against  a  cushiony  hillside,  a  battlemented  doll's  house, 
forgotten  by  the  child  who  let  it  fall,  while  big  trees  grew 
up  and  tried  to  hide  it. 

Two  cliffs  has  Sidmouth,  and  an  innocent  esplanade, 
and  —  that  is  about  all,  except  the  toy  town  itself.  But 
it 's  a  place  to  stay  in.  A  happy  man  would  never 


200  SET  IN  SILVER 

tire  of  it,  I  think.  An  unhappy  one  might  prefer 
Brighton — or  Monte  Carlo.  I  am  neither  one  nor  the 
other.  So  I  prefer  a  motor-car.  We  are  on  the  wing 
again  to-morrow. 

I  must  now  go  to  our  sitting-room,  which  looks  over 
the  sea,  and  play  a  rubber  of  bridge  with  Mrs.  Senter, 
Emily,  and  Burden.  Ellaline  does  n't  play. 

Hope  I  have  n't  bored  you  with  my  Burden,  and  other 

complaints.  ,, 

Yours  ever, 

PEN. 

Later,  August  2nd,  Night 

I  have  opened  my  letter  again,  to  tell  you  what  came  of 
that  rubber  of  bridge. 

I  've  lost  —  all  the  glamour.  The  reaction  after  the 
hasheesh  has  set  in. 

We  did  n't  play  long.  Just  that  one  rubber,  and  before 
we  finished  Ellaline  had  taken  her  copy  of  "  Lorna  Doone" 
upstairs  to  her  own  room,  without  interrupting  our  game 
for  a  good-night.  She  didn't  think  we  saw  her  go;  but 
there  were  two  of  us  who  did.  Burden  was  one  of  the 
two.  I  don't  need  to  tell  you  who  the  other  fool  was. 

Mrs.  Senter  and  I  were  partners,  as  we  generally  are, 
if  there  's  any  bridge  going  in  the  evening.  She  's  devoted 
to  the  game,  and  it 's  always  she  who  proposes  it.  I 
would  generally  prefer  to  fag  up  our  route  for  next  day 
with  guide-books  and  road-maps.  But  hosts,  like  beggars, 
can't  be  "choosers." 

Well,  to-night  Emily  and  Burden  had  all  the  cards,  and 
Burden  wanted  a  second  rubber,  but  his  aunt  does  n't 
like  losing  her  money  to  her  nephew,  even  though  we  play 


SET  IN  SILVER  201 

for  childishly  low  stakes.  She  said  she  "knew  that  Mrs. 
Norton  was  tired,"  and  Emily  did  n't  deny  the  soft 
impeachment,  as  she  plays  bridge  in  the  same  way  she 
would  do  district  visiting  during  an  epidemic  of  measles  — 
because  it  is  her  duty. 

Dick  had  the  latest  French  imitation  of  Sherlock 
Holmes  to  read,  and  a  box  of  Egyptian  cigarettes  to  smoke 
(mine),  which  he  evidently  thinks  too  young  for  me.  Emily 
had  some  embroidery,  which  I  seem  to  remember  that 
she  began  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  kept  religiously  to  do  in 
hotels.  (But  what  is  there  that  my  good  sister  does, 
which  she  does  not  do  religiously?)  Mrs.  Senter  had 
nothing  to  amuse  or  occupy  her  —  except  your  humble 
servant — consequently  she  suggested  a  stroll  in  the  garden 
before  bedtime. 

Shewas  almost  beautiful  in  the  moonlight, quite  ethereal- 
looking,  and  her  hair  a  nimbus  for  that  small  white  face 
of  hers;  just  as  small,  just  as  white,  and  just  as  smooth  as 
when  those  big  eyes  used  to  look  up  into  our  eyes  under 
an  Indian  moon.  And  she  is  always  agreeable,  always 
witty,  or  at  least  "smart."  Still,  I  must  confess  that  I 
was  ungallantly  absent-minded  until  something  she  said 
waked  me  up  from  a  brown  study. 

"He  really  is  a  nice  boy,"  she  was  saying,  "and  after 
all,  it 's  a  tribute  to  your  distinguished  qualities  that  he 
should  be  afraid  to  speak  to  you." 

I  guessed  at  once  that  she  must  have  been  talking  of 
her  nephew. 

"  What  is  he  afraid  to  say  to  me  ?"  I  enquired. 

"Afraid  to  ask  you  for  Miss  Lethbridge,"  she 
explained. 


202  SET  IN  SILVER 

I  think  just  about  that  time  an  ugly  black  eyelid  shut 
down  over  the  moon.  Anyhow,  the  world  darkened  for  me. 

"Is. n't  it  rather  old-fashioned,  in  these  rapid  days,  for 
a  young  man  to  ask  a  guardian's  permission  to  make 
love  to  his  ward  ?"  said  I,  savage  as  a  chained  dog. 

She  laughed.  "  Oh,  he  has  n't  waited  for  that  to  make 
love,  I  'm  afraid,"  she  returned.  "  But  he  's  afraid  she 
won't  accept  him  without  your  consent." 

"He  seems  to  be  afraid  of  several  things,"  I  growled. 
"Afraid  to  speak  to  me  — afraid  to  speak  to  her." 

"He  is  young,  and  love  has  made  him  modest,"  Mrs. 
Senter  excused  her  favourite.  "  He  knows  he  is  n't  a 
grand  parti.  But  if  they  care  for  each  other?" 

"I  have  seen  no  reason  to  believe  that  she  cares  for 
him,"  said  I,  thinking  myself  (more  or  less)  safe  in  the 
recollection  of  Ellaline's  words  at  Winchester.  I  told 
you  about  them,  I  think. 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Senter,  "  she  cares  enough,  any- 
how, to  have  entered  into  a  pact  of  some  sort  with  the  poor 
boy  —  a  kind  of  understanding  that,  if  you  approve,  she 
may  at  least  think  of  being  engaged  to  him  in  the  future." 

"  You  are  sure  she  has  done  that  ?"  I  asked,  staggered 
by  this  statement,  which  I  was  far  from  expecting. 

"Quite  sure,  unless  love  (in  the  form  of  Dibk)  is  deaf 
as  well  as  blind.  He  certainly  flatters  himself  that  they 
are  on  these  terms." 

"Since  when?"  I  persisted.  (By  the  by,  I  wonder  if 
the  inquisitors  ever  hit  on  the  ingenious  plan  of  making 
prisoners  torture  themselves?  Nothing  hurts  worse 
than  self-torture.) 

"  Only  since  Lulworth  Cove,  or  you  would  have  heard 


SET    IN  SILVER  203 

of  it  before.  You  know  when  we  came  back  from  our 
walk,  and  saw  them  sitting  on  the  beach  together,  I  said 
what  a  pretty  picture  they  made?" 

Naturally,  I  remembered  extremely  well. 

"That  was  when  they  had  their  great  scene.  Dick 
begged  me,  as  an  old  friend  of  yours,  to  say  a  word  when 
I  found  the  chance.  And  I  confess,  I  've  made  the  chance 
to-night.  I  do  hope  you  won't  think  me  impertinent 
and  interfering  ?  I  'm  fond  of  Dick.  He  's  about  all  I 
have  to  be  fond  of  in  the  world.  And  besides — just 
because  I  've  never  been  happy  myself,  I  want  others 
to  be,  while  they  're  young,  not  to  waste  time." 

I  muttered  something,  I  hardly  know  what,  and  she 
went  on  to  talk  to  me  of  her  past,  for  the  first  time.  Said 
she  had  married  when  little  more  than  a  child,  and 
had  made  the  mistake  of  marrying  a  man  she  thought 
she  could  manage  to  live  happily  with,  instead  of  one 
she  could  n't  manage  to  live  happily  without.  That 
was  all;  but  it  had  made  all  the  difference — and  if 
Miss  Lethbridge  had  given  her  first  love  to  Dick 

I  nearly  said,  "Hang  first  love!"  but  I  held  my  tongue, 
fortunately,  for  of  course  she  meant  well,  and  was  only 
doing  her  best  for  her  nephew.  But  how  anyone  could 
love  that  fellow  passes  my  understanding !  Why,  it  seems 
to  me  the  creature  's  parents  could  hardly  have  loved  him, 
unless  he  had  had  something  of  the  monstrous  hypnotism, 
as  well  as  the  selfishness,  of  a  young  cuckoo  in  its  stolen 
nest.  Yet  the  same  hypnotism  may  influence  birds  out- 
side the  nest,  I  suppose.  That 's  the  only  way  to  account 
for  an  infatuation  on  the  part  of  Ellaline. 

"If  you   are   angry,   Dick  and    I    must   go    away," 


204  SET  IN  SILVER 

Mrs.  Senter  went  on.  "  But  he  could  n't  help  falling  in 
love,  and  to  me  they  seem  made  for  each  other." 

I  had  to  answer  that  of  course  I  was  n't  angry,  but  I 
thought  any  talk  of  love  premature,  to  say  the  least. 

"You  won't  actually  refuse  your  consent,  then?" 
asked  she. 

"Much  good  my  refusing  would  do,  if  the  girl  really 
cares!"  said  I.  "I  shan't  disinherit  her,  whatever  she 
does." 

Mrs.  Senter  laughed  at  that.  "Why,  even  if  you  did," 
said  she,  "  it  would  n't  matter  greatly  to  them,  because 
Dick  has  something  of  his  own,  and  she  is  an  heiress, 
is  n't  she  ?" 

Then  —  I  don't  know  whether  I  was  wrong  or  not  — 
but  I  swear  I  made  the  answer  I  did  without  any  mean  or 
selfish  motives  —  if  I  can  read  my  own  soul.  If  Burden 
were  a  fortune-hunter,  I  wanted  to  save  her  from  him, 
that 's  all.  I  told  Mrs.  Senter  that  Ellaline  had  very  little 
money  of  her  own.  "  I  shall  look  after  her,  of  course," 
I  said.  "But  the  amount  of  the  dot  I  may  give  will  be 
.determined  by  circumstances." 

I  don't  know  that  I  may  n't  have  put  this  in  a  tactless 
•way.  Anyhow,  Mrs.  Senter  looked  rather  odd  —  hurt, 
or  distressed,  or  something  queer  —  I  could  n't  make  quite 
out.  She  said,  nevertheless,  that  Dick  did  not  care  for 
Miss  Lethbridge's  money.  He  had  fallen  in  love  with  her 
the  first  time  they  met.  Nothing  else  mattered,  as  they 
"would  have  enough  to  live  on.  But  she  had  supposed 
the  girl  almost  too  rich  for  Dick.  Was  n't  Ellaline 
a  relation  of  the  millionaire  family  of  Lethbridges? 
She  had  heard  so. 


SET  IN  SILVER  205 

I  answered  that  the  relationship  was  distant.  That 
Ellaline's  father  had  once  been  a  friend  of  mine,  and  that 
her  mother  had  been  my  cousin,  though  a  French  girl. 

"Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Senter,  as  if  suddenly  enlightened. 
"  Is  she  —  by  any  chance  —  the  daughter  of  a  Frederic 
Lethbridge?" 

What  she  recalled  about  Fred  Lethbridge,  I  can't 
guess.  She  is  n't  old  enough  to  have  known  him,  unless 
as  a  child  or  a  very  young  girl.  But  she  certainly  had 
some  thought  in  connection  with  him  which  made  her 
silent  and  reflective.  I  hope  I  have  done  Ellaline  no 
harm  —  in  case  the  girl  really  does  care  for  Burden.  I 
never  had  the  intention  of  keeping  her  parentage  secret, 
though  at  the  same  time  it  would  pain  me  to  have  any 
gossip  reach  her.  However,  to  do  Mrs.  Senter  justice, 
I  don't  think  she  is  a  gossip.  She  likes  to  say  "smart" 
things,  but  so  far  as  I  have  heard,  she  is  never  smart  at 
other  people's  expense.  And  since  her  confidences  to 
me  concerning  her  past,  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  little 
woman. 

Not  much  more  passed  between  us  on  the  subject  of 
Ellaline  and  Dick,  except  that  I  refused  to  recommend 
the  young  man  to  the  girl's  good  graces.  I  had  to  tell 
Mrs.  Senter  that,  not  even  for  the  pleasure  of  pleasing  her, 
could  I  consent  to  do  what  she  asked.  But  I  did  finally 
promise  to  let  Ellaline  know  that  personally  I  had  no 
objection  to  the  alleged  "understanding,"  if  it  were  for 
her  happiness.  Nevertheless,  I  would  advise  her  that 
she  must  do  nothing  rash.  Mrs.  Senter  not  only  per- 
mitted, but  actually  suggested,  this  extra  clause;  and  our 
seance  ended. 


206  SET  IN  SILVER 

Some  things  are  too  strange  not  to  be  true;  and  I  sup- 
pose this  infatuation  of  Ellaline's,  if  it  exists,  is  one  of 
them.  And  it  must  exist.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it, 
since  Mrs.  Senter  has  it  from  the  boy  —  who  apparently 
has  it  from  the  girl. 

What  to  make  of  it,  however,  that  she  told  me  only 
about  ten  days  ago,  she  did  n't  like  him  ?  Yet  I  am  for- 
getting. We  have  it  on  good  authority  that  "  't  is  best 
to  begin  with  a  little  aversion." 

I  ought  to  have  known  that  a  daughter  of  Ellaline  de 
Nesville  and  Frederic  Lethbridge  could  n't  develop  into 
the  star-high  being  this  girl  has  seemed  to  me;  and  I 
must  make  the  best  of  it  that  she  's  something  less  in  soul 
than,  in  my  first  burst  of  astonished  admiration,  I  was 
inclined  to  appraise  her.  After  all,  why  feel  bitter  against 
people  because  they  have  disappointing  shortcomings, 
if  not  defects,  instead  of  the  dazzling  virtues  that 
glittered  in  your  imagination?  Cream  always  rises  to 
the  top,  yet  we  don't  think  less  of  it  because  there  's 
nothing  but  milk  underneath. 

Yes,  if  I  find  out  that  she  likes  this  hypnotic  cuckoo  I 
must  n't  despise  her  for  it.  But  I  must  find  out  as  soon 
as  I  can.  Suspense  is  the  one  unbearable  pain.  And 
you  are  at  liberty  to  laugh  at  me  as  I  hope  I  shall  soon  be 
laughing  at  myself. 

L.  P. 


XV 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Osborne  Hotel,  Torquay 
August  6th 

MA  PETITE  MINERVE-DE-MERE  :  A  hundred  and  six 
and  a  half  thanks  for  your  counsels  and  consolations. 
I  needed  both,  and  not  a  bit  the  less  because  I  'm  not 
unhappy  now  I  'm  violently  happy.  It  won't  last,  but 
I  love  it  —  this  happiness.  I  keep  it  sitting  on  my  shoulder 
and  stroking  its  wings,  so  it  may  n't  remember  when  it 's 
time  to  fly  away. 

That  letter  I  wrote  you  was  silly.  I  was  a  regular  cry- 
baby to  write  it.  But  I  'm  so  glad  you  answered  quickly. 
I  don't  know  how  I  should  have  borne  it  if  the  man  at  the 
Poste  Restante  window  had  said:  "Nothing  for  you. 
miss."  I  might  have  responded  with  blows. 

There  was  a  letter  from  Ellaline,  too.  I  'd  sent  her  the 
"  itinerary  "  as  far  as  I  knew  it,  and  Torquay  was  the  last 
place  on  the  list.  I  was  wondering  if  anything  were  the 
matter,  but  there  is  n't  —  though  there  is  news.  She 
waited  to  write,  she  says,  so  that  her  plans  might  be 
decided  and  she  could  tell  them  to  me. 

The  military  manoeuvres  go  on;  and  the  news  has 
nothing  directly  to  do  with  the  adored  Honore.  But 
Ellaline  has  made  a  confidante  —  a  Scotch  girl  she  has 
207 


208  SETINSILVER 

met.  I  don't  mean  she 's  told  everything ;  far  from 
that,  apparently.  She  has  kept  the  fraudulent  part, 
about  me,  secret,  and  only  confided  the  romantic 
part,  about  herself.  What  she  says  she  has  told  is,  that 
she  's  run  away  from  cruel  persons  who  want  to  have  all 
her  money,  and  to  prevent  her  from  having  any  happiness. 
That  she  's  hiding  till  the  man  she  's  engaged  to  can  take 
her  to  Scotland  and  have  a  Scotch  marriage  —  at  Gretna 
Green,  if  possible,  because  it  would  be  romantic,  and  her 
mother  was  married  there.  The  Scotch  girl,  with  north- 
ern coldness  of  reason,  has  pointed  out  that  Gretna  Green 
is  nowadays  like  any  other  place,  but  Ellaline  is  not 
weaned  from  the  idea.  She  appears  to  have  fascinated 
her  new  friend  (as  she  did  her  old  ones),  in  spite  of  the 
northern  coldness,  and  has  received  a  pressing  invitation 
to  visit  at  the  girl's  house  in  Scotland  until  Honore  can 
claim  her. 

There  is  a  mother,  as  well  as  a  girl,  but  only  a  step- 
mother, and  apparently  a  detail;  for  the  girl  has  the 
money  and  the  strength  of  will.  The  two  are  stopping 
in  a  pension  near  Madame  de  Blanchemain's  house. 
The  girl  is  a  Miss  McNamarra,  with  freckles  and  no 
figure,  but  engaged  to  an  officer,  and  consequently 
sympathetic.  She  has  advised  Ellaline  that,  if  she  travels 
from  France  to  Scotland  with  Honore,  on  the  way  to  be 
married,  he  may  n't  respect  her  as  much  as  if  she  had 
friends  and  chaperons,  and  a  nice  place  to  wait  for  him. 
Ellaline  is  too  French  at  heart  not  to  feel  that  this  advice 
is  good  —  though  she  adds  in  her  letter  that  she,  of  course, 
trusts  darling  Honore  completely; — so  she  has  accepted 
the  invitation. 


SET  IN  SILVER  200 

The  only  trouble  is,  she  wants  more  money  at  once. 
She  must  let  golden  louis  run  through  her  fingers  like 
water,  for  I  sent  her  nearly  all  Sir  Lionel  handed  me 
before  we  started  on  the  trip.  I  shall  have  to  ask  him 
for  more,  and  I  '11  hate  doing  that,  because,  though  I 
shall  be  gone  out  of  his  life  so  soon,  I  'm  too  vain  and  self- 
conscious  (it  must  be  that !)  to  like  making  a  bad  impression 
on  his  mind  while  we  're  together. 

I  shan't  hate  it  as  much,  however,  as  I  should,  suppos- 
ing that  something  which  happened  last  night  had  n't 
happened.  I  'm  coming  to  that  part  presently.  It 's  the 
thing  that  's  made  me  happy  —  the  thing  that  won't 
last  long. 

We  left  adorable  little  Sidmouth  days  ago  —  I  almost 
forget  how  many,  coming  as  far  as  Exeter  along  a  lovely 
road.  But  then,  everything  is  lovely  in  Devonshire. 
It  is  almost  more  beautiful  than  the  New  Forest,  only 
so  different  that,  thank  goodness,  it  is  n't  necessary  to 
compare  the  two  kinds  of  scenery. 

Perhaps  Devonshire,  stripped  of  its  bold,  red  rocks, 
drained  of  its  brilliant  blue  sea,  and  despoiled  of  its  dark 
moors,  might  be  too  sugary  sweet  with  its  flower-draped 
cottages,  and  lanes  like  green- walled  conservatories;  but 
it  is  so  well  balanced,  with  its  intimate  sweetnesses, 
and  its  noble  outlines.  I  think  you  are  rather  like 
Devonshire,  you  're  so  perfect,  and  you  are  the  most 
well-balanced  person  I  was  ever  introduced  to  — 
except  Dad.  I  'm  proud  that  his  ancestors  were  Devon- 
shire men.  And  oh,  the  junket  and  Devonshire  cream  are 
even  better  than  he  used  to  tell  me!  I  have  n't  tasted  the 
cider  yet,  because  I  can't  bear  to  miss  the  cream  at  any 


210  SET  IN  SILVER 

meal;  and  the  chambermaid  at  Sidmouth  warned  me  that 
they  "didn't  mix." 

Bits  of  Devonshire  are  like  Italy,  I  find.  Not  only  is 
the  earth  deep  red  in  the  meadows,  where  the  farmers 
have  torn  open  its  green  coat,  and  many  of  the  roads  a  pale 
rose-pink  —  dust  and  all  —  but  lots  of  houses  and  cot- 
tages are  pink,  a  real  Italian  pink,  so  that  whole  villages 
blush  as  you  look  them  in  the  face.  Sometimes,  too, 
there  's  a  blue  or  a  green,  or  a  golden-octre  house;  here 
and  there  a  high,  broken  wall  of  rose  or  faded  yellow, 
with  torrential  geraniums  boiling  over  the  top.  And  the 
effect  of  this  riot  of  colour,  in  contrast  with  the  silver 
gray  of  the  velvety  thatch,  or  lichen-jewelled  slate 
roofs,  under  great,  cool  trees,  is  even  more  beautiful 
than  Italy.  If  all  England  is  a  park,  Devonshire  is  a 
queen's  garden. 

From  Sidmouth  we  went  to  Budleigh  Salterton  (why 
either,  but  especially  both?),  quaintly  pretty,  and  rather 
Holland-like  with  its  miniature  bridges  and  canal.  Then 
to  Exmouth,  with  its  flowering  "front,"  its  tiny  "Maison 
Carree"  (which  would  remind  one  more  of  Nimes  if  it 
had  no  bay  windows),  and  its  exquisite  view  across  silver 
river,  and  purple  hills  that  ripple  away  into  faint  lilac 
shadows  in  the  distance.  Then  we  struck  inland,  to 
Exeter,  and  at  Exeter  we  stopped  two  days,  in  the  very 
oldest  and  queerest  but  nicest  hotel  imaginable. 

I  was  n't  so  very  happy  there,  because  the  Thing  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you  about  in  good  time  had  n't  happened  yet. 
But  I  'm  not  sure  that  I  was  n't  more  in  tune  with  Exeter 
than  if  I  had  been  as  happy  as  I  am  now.  The  scenery 
liere  suits  my  joyous  mood;  and_the  grave  tranquillity  of 


SET  IN  SILVER  211 

the  beautiful  old  cathedral  town  calmed  my  spirit  when 
I  needed  calm. 

I  've  given  up  expecting  to  love  any  other  cathedral 
as  I  loved  Winchester.  Chichester  I  've  half  forgotten 
already  —  except  some  of  the  tombs.  Salisbury  was  far 
more  beautiful,  far  more  impressive  in  its  proportions  than 
Winchester,  yet  to  me  not  so  impressive  in  other  ways; 
and  Exeter  Cathedral  struck  me  at  first  sight  as  curiously 
low,  almost  squat.  But  as  soon  as  I  lived  down  the  first 
surprise  of  that  effect  I  began  to  love  it.  The  stone  of 
which  the  Cathedral  is  built  may  be  cold  and  gray;  but 
time  and  carvings  have  made  it  solemn,  not  depress- 
ing. I  stood  a  long  time  looking  up  at  the  west  front, 
not  saying  a  word;  but  something  in  me  was  singing  a 
Te  Deum.  And  how  you  would  love  the  windows! 
You  used  always  to  say,  when  we  were  in  Italy  and  France, 
that  it  was  beautiful  windows  which  made  you  love  a 
cathedral  or  church,  as  beautiful  eyes  make  one  love 
a  face. 

This  Cathedral  has  unforgettable  eyes,  and  a  tre- 
mendously long  history,  beginning  as  far  back  as  nine  hun- 
dred and  something,  when  Athelstan  came  to  Exeter  and 
drove  out  the  poor  British  who  thought  it  was  theirs. 
He  built  towns,  founded  a  monastery  in  honour  of  Saint 
Mary  and  Saint  Peter,  not  having  time,  I  suppose,  to  do 
one  for  each.  And  afterward  the  monastery  decided 
that  it  would  be  a  cathedral  instead.  But  two  hundred 
and  more  years  earlier,  that  disagreeable  St.  Boniface, 
who  disliked  the  Celts  so  much,  went  to  a  Saxon  school 
in  Exeter!  I  wonder  what  going  to  school  was  like  when 
all  the  world  was  young  ? 


212  SET  IN  SILVER 

I  wandered  into  the  Cathedral  both  mornings  to  hear 
the  music;  and  something  about  the  dim,  moonlit  look 
of  the  interior  made  me  feel  good.  You  will  say 
that's  rather  a  change  for  me,  perhaps,  because  you  tell 
me  reproachfully,  sometimes,  after  I  've  thought  about  the 
people's  hats  and  the  backs  of  their  blouses  in  church, 
that  I  have  only  a  bowing  acquaintance  with  religion. 
I  don't  know  whether  I  may  n't  be  doing  the  most  dread- 
ful wrong  every  minute  by  pretending  to  be  Ellaline; 
but  it  was  begun  for  a  good  purpose,  as  you  know,  and 
you  yourself  consented.  And  though  I  have  twinges 
sometimes,  I  did  feel  good  at  Exeter.  Oh,  it  did  me  heaps 
of  good  to  feel  good !  You  have  to  live  up  to  your  feelings, 
if  you  feel  like  that.  And  I  prayed  in  the  Cathedral.  I 
prayed  to  be  happy.  Is  that  a  wrong  note  for  a  prayer  ? 
I  don't  believe  it  is,  if  it  rings  true.  Anyway,  it  makes  me 
feel  young  and  strong  to  pray,  like  Achilles,  after  he  'd 
rolled  on  the  earth.  And  I  do  feel  so  young  and  strong 
just  now,  dear!  I  have  to  sing  in  my  bath,  and  when  I 
look  out  of  the  window  —  also  sometimes  when  I  look  in 
the  glass,  for  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  growing  brighter  and 
prettier. 

I  love  to  be  pretty,  because  it 's  such  a  beautiful  world, 
and  to  be  pretty  is  to  be  in  the  harmony  of  it.  Though, 
perhaps  —  only  perhaps,  mind !  —  I  'm  glad  I  'm  not  a 
regular  beauty.  It  would  be  such  a  responsibility  in  the 
matter  of  wearing  one  's  clothes,  and  doing  one's  hair,  and 
never  getting  tanned  or  chapped. 

And  I  love  to  be  thin,  and  alive  —  alive,  with  my  soul 
in  proportion  to  my  body,  like  a  hand  in  a  glove,  not  like 
a  seed  in  a  big  apple.  But  is  n't  this  funny  talk,  in  the 


SETINSILVER  213 

midst  of  describing  Exeter  ?  It 's  because  of  the  reaction 
from  misery  to  ecstasy  that  I  'm  so  bubbly.  ~  I  can't  stop; 
but  luckily  it  did  n't  come  on  in  Exeter,  because  the  delight- 
ful, queer  old  streets  are  n't  at  all  suitable  to  bubble  in. 
It 's  impertinent  to  be  excessively  young  there,  especially 
in  the  beautiful  cathedral  close,  where  it  is  so  calm  and 
dignified,  and  the  rooks,  who  are  very,  very  old,  do 
nothing  but  caw  about  their  ancestors.  I  think  some 
curates  ought  to  turn  into  rooks  when  they  die.  They 
would  be  quite  happy. 

Our  hotel,  as  I  said,  was  fascinating,  though  Mrs. 
Norton  fell  once  or  twice,  as  there  were  steps  up  and  down 
everywhere,  and  Dick  bumped  his  forehead  on  a  door. 
(I  wasn't  at  all  sorry  for  him.)  Mrs.  Senter  said,  if 
we  'd  stopped  long  she  would  have  got  "  cottage  walk, " 
and  as  she  already  had  motor-car  face  and  bridge  eye, 
she  thought  the  combination  would  be  trop  fort.  If  she 
were  n't  Dick's  aunt,  and  if  she  were  n't  so  determined 
to  flirt  with  Sir  Lionel  without  his  knowing  what  she  's 
at,  and  if  she  did  n't  make  little  cutting  speeches  to  me 
when  he  is  n't  listening,  I  think  I  should  find  her  amusing. 

The  only  things  I  did  n't  like  at  the  hotel  were  the  eggs; 
which  looked  so  nice,  quite  brown,  and  dated  the  morning 
you  had  them,  on  their  shells,  but  tasting  mediaeval.  I 
wonder  if  eggs  can  be  post-dated,  like  cheques?  As  for 
the  other  eatables,  there  was  very  little  taste  in  them, 
mediaeval  or  otherwise.  I  do  think  ice-cream,  for  instance, 
ought  to  taste  like  something,  if  it 's  only  hair  oil.  And 
the  head  waiter  had  such  mournful-looking  hair! 

I  never  got  a  talk  alone  with  Sir  Lionel  in  Exeter,  because 
though  he  tried  once  or  twice,  with  the  air  of  having  a 


214  SET  IN  SILVER 

painful  duty  to  accomplish,  I  was  afraid  he  was  going  to 
ask  me  about  Dick,  and  I  just  felt  I  could  n't  bear  it,  so 
avoided  him,  or  instantly  tacked  myself  on  to  Emily  or 
someone.  I  think  Emily  approves  of  my  running  to  her, 
whenever  threatened  by  man's  society,  because  she  thinks 
the  instinctive  desire  to  be  protected  from  anything  male  is 
pretty  and  maidenly.  She  certainly  belongs  to  the  Stone 
Age  in  some  of  her  ideas;  though  her  maxims  are  of  a 
later  period.  Many  of  them  she  draws  (and  quarters) 
from  the  Scriptures;  at  least,  she  attributes  them  to  the 
Scriptures,  but  I  know  some  of  them  to  be  in  Shakespeare. 
Lots  of  people  seem  to  make  that  mistake! 

Of  course,  in  the  car  I  never  talk  to  Sir  Lionel,  except 
a  word  flung  over  shoulders  now  and  then,  for  Mrs.  Senter 
sits  by  him.  She  asked  to.  Did  I  tell  you  that  before  ? 
So  the  day  we  left  Exeter  things  were  just  the  same 
between  us;  not  trustful  and  silently  happy,  as  at  the  time 
of  the  ring,  but  rather  strained,  and  vaguely  official. 

It  had  rained  a  little  in  Exeter,  but  the  sky  and  land- 
scape were  clean-washed  and  sparkling  as  we  sailed  over 
the  pink  road,  past  charming  little  Starcross,  with  its 
big  swan-boat  and  baby  swan-boat ;  past  Dawlish  of  the 
crimson  cliffs  and  deep,  deep  blue  sea  (if  I  were  a  Bluer  — 
just  as  good  a  word  as  Brewer !  —  I  would  buy  Dawlish 
as  an  advertisement  for  my  blue.  It  seems  made  for  that 
by  Nature,  and  is  so  brilliant  you  'd  never  believe  it  was 
true,  on  a  poster);  down  a  toboggan  slide  of  a  hill  into 
Teignmouth,  another  garden-town  by  the  sea,  and  through 
one  of  England's  many  Newtons  —  Newton  Abbot,  this 
time  —  to  Torquay. 

As  we  had  n't  left  Exeter  until  after  luncheon,  it  was 


SETINSILVER  215 

evening  when  we  arrived;  but  that,  Sir  Lionel  said,  was 
what  he  wanted,  on  account  of  the  lights  in  and  on  and 
above  the  water,  which  he  wanted  us  to  see  as  we  came 
to  the  town.  He  has  been  here  before,  long  ago,  as  he 
has  been  at  most  of  the  places;  but  he  says  that  he 
enjoys  and  appreciates  everything  more  now  than  he 
did  the  first  time. 

It  was  like  a  dream !  —  a  dream  all  the  way  from 
Newton  Abbot,  where  sunset  began  to  turn  the  silver 
streak  of  river  in  the  valley  red  as  wine.  There  was  just 
one  ugly  interval :  the  long,  dull  street  by  which  we  entered 
Torquay,  with  its  tearing  trams  and  common  shops;  but 
out  of  it  we  came  suddenly  into  a  scene  of  enchantment. 
That  really  isn't  too  enthusiastic  a  description,  for  in 
front  of  us  lay  the  harbour;  the  water  violet,  flecked  with 
gold,  the  sky  blazing  still,  coral-red  to  the  zenith,  where 
the  moon  drenched  the  fire  with  a  silver  flood.  The 
hills  were  deeper  violet  than  the  sea,  sparkling  with  lights 
that  sprang  out  of  the  twilight;  and  on  the  smooth  water  a 
hundred  little  white  boats  danced  over  their  own  reflections. 

We  begged  Sir  Lionel  not  to  let  Young  Nick  light  our 
lamps,  for  they  are  so  fierce  and  powerful,  they  swallow 
up  the  beauty  of  the  evening.  But  I  do  think,  where 
there  are  lots  of  motors  about,  it  would  be  nice  if  people 
had  to  be  lighted  at  night,  and  especially  dogs. 

Now,  at  last,  I  have  come  to  the  Thing  —  the  thing  that 
makes  me  happy,  with  a  happiness  all  the  more  vivid 
because  it  can't  last.  But  even  if  I  fall  to  the  depths  of 
misery  once  more,  I  shan't  be  a  coward,  and  moan  to  you. 
It  must  be  horrid  to  get  letter  after  letter,  full  of  wails! 
I  don't  see  how  Mademoiselle  Julie  de  Lespinasse  could 


216  SET  IN  SILVER 

write  the  letters  she  did;  and  I  can't  much  blame 
Monsieur  de  Guibert  for  dreading  to  read  them,  always 
in  the  same  key,  and  on  the  same  note:  "I  suffer,  I 
suffer.  I  want  to  die." 

Well,  I  've  kept  you  waiting  long  enough,  or  have 
you,  perhaps,  read  ahead?  I  should,  in  your  place, 
though  I  hope  you  have  n't. 

We  came  to  the  Osborne  because  Sir  Lionel  knew  and 
liked  it,  though  there  's  another  hotel  grander,  and  we 
usually  go  to  the  grandest  (so  odd,  that  feels,  after  our 
travels,  yours  and  mine,  when  our  first  thought  was  to 
search  out  the  cheapest  place  in  any  town!),  and  the 
Osborne  has  a  terraced  garden,  which  runs  down  and 
down  the  cliffs,  toward  the  sea,  with  a  most  alluring  view. 

Mrs.  Senter  had  luggage  come  to  meet  her  here, 
and  she  appeared  at  dinner  in  our  private  sitting-room 
looking  quite  startlingly  handsome,  in  a  black  chiffon 
dress  embroidered  in  pale  gold,  exactly  the  colour  of  her 
hair.  The  weather  had  turned  rather  cold,  however, 
since  the  rain  at  Exeter,  so,  gorgeous  as  the  moonlight 
was,  she  wanted  to  stop  indoors  after  dinner,  and  proposed 
bridge,  as  usual. 

That  was  the  signal  for  me  to  slip  away.  I  'd  finished 
"Lorna  Doone,"  which  is  the  loveliest  love  story  in  the 
English  language  (except  part  of  "  Richard  Feverel "),  so 
I  thought  I  would  go  into  the  garden.  I  felt  moderately 
secure  from  Dick,  because,  even  if  he  really  is  in  love 
with  me,  he  is  as  much  in  love  with  bridge,  and  besides, 
he  's  afraid  of  his  aunt,  for  some  reason  or  other.  As 
for  Sir  Lionel,  it  did  n't  occur  to  me  that  he  might  even 
want  to  come. 


SET    IN  SILVER  217 

I  strolled  about  at  first,  not  far  from  the  hotel.  Then 
I  was  tempted  farther  and  farther  down  the  cliff  path, 
until  I  found  a  thatched  summer-house,  where  I  sat  and 
thought  what  a  splendid,  ornamental  world  it  would  be 
to  live  in  if  one  were  quite  happy. 

By  this  time  the  sky  and  sea  were  bathed  in  moon- 
light, the  stone  pines  —  so  like  Italian  pines  —  black 
against  a  silver  haze.  In  the  dark  water  the  path 
of  the  moon  lay,  very  broad  and  long,  all  made  of 
great  flakes  of  thick,  deep  gold,  as  if  the  sea  were  paved 
with  golden  scales. 

It  was  so  lovely  it  saddened  me,  but  I  did  n't  want  to 
go  indoors;  and  presently  I  heard  footsteps  on  the  path. 
I  was  afraid  it  was  Dick,  after  all,  as  he  is  horribly  clever 
about  finding  out  where  one  has  gone  —  so  detectivey 
of  him !  —  but  in  another  second  I  smelt  Sir  Lionel's 
kind  of  cigarette  smoke.  It  would  make  me  think  of 
him  if  it  were  a  hundred  years  from  now!  Still,  Dick 
borrows  his  cigarettes  often,  as  he  says  they  're  too  expen- 
sive to  buy,  so  I  wasn't  safe.  Indeed,  which  ever  it 
turned  out  to  be,  I  was  n't  safe,  because  one  might  be 
silly,  and  the  other  might  scold. 

But  it  was  Sir  Lionel,  and  he  saw  me,  although  I  made 
myself  little  and  stood  in  the  shadow,  not  daring  to  sit 
down  again,  because  the  seat  squeaked. 

"Are  n't  you  cold  ?"  he  asked. 

I  answered  that  I  was  quite  warm. 

Then  he  said  that  it  was  a  nice  night,  and  we  talked 
about  the  weather,  and  all  that  idiotic  sort  of  thing, 
which  means  empty  brains  or  hearts  too  full. 

By  and  by,  when  I  was  beginning  to  feel  as  though  I 


218  SET  IN  SILVER 

should  scream  if  it  went  on  much  longer,  he  stopped 
suddenly,  in  a  conversation  about  fresh  fish,  and  said: 
"  Ellaline,  I  think  I  must  speak  of  something  that 's  been 
on  my  mind  for  some  days." 

He'd  never  called  me  "Ellaline"  before,  but  only 
"you,"  and  this  gave  me  rather  a  start,  to  begin  with, 
so  I  said  nothing.  And,  as  it  turned  out,  that  was 
probably  the  best  thing  I  could  have  done.  If  I  'd 
said  anything,  it  would  have  been  the  wrong  thing,  and 
then,  perhaps,  we  should  have  started  off  with  a 
misunderstanding. 

"I  should  hate  to  have  you  think  me  unsympathetic," 
he  went  on.  "  I  'm  not.  But  —  do  you  want  to  marry 
Dick  Burden,  some  day?" 

If  he  'd  put  it  differently  I  might  have  hesitated  what 
to  answer,  for  I  am  afraid  of  Dick,  there  's  no  use  deny- 
ing it  —  of  course,  mostly  on  Ellaline's  account,  but  a 
little  on  my  own  too,  because  I  'm  a  coward,  and  don't 
want  to  be  disgraced.  As  it  was,  I  could  n't  hesitate,  for 
the  thought  of  marrying  Dick  Burden  would  have  been 
insupportable  if  it  had  n't  been  ridiculous.  So  you  see, 
I  forgot  to  dread  what  Dick  might  do  if  he  heard,  and 
just  blurted  out  the  truth. 

"  I  'd  sooner  go  into  a  convent,"  said  I. 

"You  mean  that?"  Sir  Lionel  pinned  me  down. 

"  I  do,"  I  repeated.  "  Could  you  imagine  a  girl  want- 
ing to  marry  Dick  Burden  ?" 

"  No,  I  could  n't,"  said  Sir  Lionel.  And  then  he 
laughed  —  such  a  nice,  happy  laugh,  like  a  boy's,  quite 
different  from  the  way  I  have  heard  him  laugh  lately  — 
though  at  first,  in  London,  he  seemed  young  and  light- 


SET  IN  SILVER  219 

hearted.  "  But  I  'm  no  judge  of  the  men  —  or  boys  —  a 
girl  might  want  to  marry.  Dick 's  good-looking,  or 
near  it." 

"Yes,"  I  admitted.  "So  is  your  little  chauffeur. 
But  I  don't  want  to  marry  it." 

"  Are  you  flirting  with  Dick,  then  ?"  Sir  Lionel  asked, 
not  sharply,  but  almost  wistfully. 

I  could  n't  stand  that.  I  had  to  tell  the  truth,  no  matter 
for  to-morrow! 

"  I  'm  not  flirting  with  him,  either,"  I  said. 

"What  then?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  But  he  seems  to  think  there  is  something  —  some- 
thing to  hope." 

"Did  he  tell  you  so?" 

"  No.     He  sent  me  word." 

"Oh!  Words  get  mixed,  when  they're  sent.  He 
knows  I  'm  not  flirting  with  him." 

"  Does  he  know  —  forgive  me  —  does  he  know  that 
you  don't  love  him  —  a  little  ?" 

"He  knows  I  don't  love  him  at  all." 

*'  Then  I  —  can't  understand,"  said  Sir  Lionel. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  love  him  ?"  I  could  n't  help 
asking. 

"No,"  he  began,  and  stopped.  "I  should  like  you 
to  be  happy,  in  your  own  way,"  he  went  on  more  slowly. 
"I  've  been  at  a  loss,  because  a  little  while  ago  you  said 
you  did  n't  like  Burden,  and  then  you  seemed  to  change 
your  mind " 

"It  was  only  seeming,"  I  continued  on  my  reckless 
course.  "My  mind  toward  him  stands  where  it  did." 


220  SET  IN  SILVER 

"  If  that  is  so,  what  have  you  done  to  him,  to  give  him 
hope?" 

'*  Nothing  I  could  help,"  I  said. 

"There's  a  strange  misunderstanding  somewhere, 
apparently,"  Sir  Lionel  reflected  aloud. 

"Oh,  don't  let  there  be  one  between  us!"  I  begged, 
looking  up  at  him  suddenly. 

He  put  his  hand  out  as  suddenly,  and  grabbed  — 
literally  grabbed — mine.  I  was  so  happy!  Isn't  it 
nice  that  men  are  so  much  stronger  than  women,  and  that 
we  're  meant  to  like  them  to  be  ?  It  can  make  life  so 
interesting. 

As  his  fingers  pressed  mine,  I  let  mine  press  his  too,  and 
felt  we  were  friends.  "By  Jove,  no,  we  won't,"  he  said. 
And  though  it  was  n't  much  to  say,  nothing  could  have 
pleased  me  better.  The  words  and  the  tone  seemed 
to  match  the  close  clasp  of  our  hands. 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  trust  me?"  I  asked. 

"  Of  course.     But  in  what  way  do  you  mean  ?" 

"About  Dick  Burden.  He  does  n't  think  I  'm  flirting, 
and  he  does  n't  think  I  care  for  him.  Yet  I  want  you  to 
trust  me,  and  not  say  anything  to  him  or  to  his  aunt. 
Let  Dick  and  me  fight  it  out  between  us." 

He  laughed  again.  "  With  all  my  heart,  if  you  want  to 
fight.  But  I  won't  have  you  annoyed.  If  he  annoys 
you  he  must  go.  I  will  get  rid  of  him." 

"  Dick  can't  annoy  me  if  he  does  n't  make  trouble  for 
me  with  you,  Sir  Lionel,"  I  said.  (And  that  was  the 
truth.)  "Only,  if  you  '11  just  trust  me  to  manage  him  ?" 

"  You  're  very  young  to  undertake  the  management  of 


SET  IN  SILVER  221 

"  Dick  is  n't  a  man.     He  's  a  boy." 

"  And  you  —  are  a  child." 

"I  may  seem  a  child  to  you,"  I  said,  "but  I  'm  not. 
I  '11  be  so  happy,  and  I  '11  thank  you  so  much,  if  you  '11 
just  let  things  go  on  as  they  are  for  a  little  while.  You  '11 
be  glad  afterward  if  you  do." 

And  he  will,  when  I  've  gone  and  Ellaline  has 
come.  He  will  be  glad  he  did  n't  give  himself  too 
much  trouble  on  my  account.  But  I  'm  not  going 
to  think  now  of  what  his  opinion  of  me  may  be 
then.  At  present  he  has  a  very  good,  kind  opinion. 
Even  though  I  am  a  child  in  his  eyes,  I  am  a  dear 
child;  and  though  it  can't  last,  it  does  make  me  happy 
to  be  dear  to  him,  in  any  way  at  all — this  terrible 
Dragon  of  Ellaline's. 

But  that  is  n't  the  end  of  our  conversation.  The  real 
end  was  an  anti-climax,  perhaps,  but  I  liked  it.  For  that 
matter,  the  tail  of  a  comet's  an  anti-climax. 

It  was  only  that,  when  we  'd  talked  on,  and  he  'd  prom- 
ised to  trust  me,  and  leave  the  reins  in  my  hands,  while  he 
attended  solely  to  the  steering  of  his  motor-car,  I  said: 
"Now  we  must  go  in.  Mrs.  Senter  will  be  wanting  to 
finish  her  rubber."  (I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  he  explained 
she  'd  had  a  telegram,  and  had  been  obliged  to  hurry  and 
write  a  letter,  to  catch  the  last  post.  That  had  stopped 
a  game  in  the  middle.) 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,  I  suppose  she  will!"  he  grumbled, 
more  to  himself  than  to  me,  because,  if  he  'd  paused  to 
think,  he  would  have  been  too  polite  to  express  himself  so 
about  a  guest,  whatever  his  feelings  were.  But  that  's 
why  I  was  pleased.  He  spoke  impulsively,  without 


222  SET  IN  SILVER 

thinking.  Was  n't  it  a  triumph,  that  he  would  rather 
have  stayed  there  in  the  garden,  even  with  a  "  child,"  than 
hurry  back  to  that  radiant  white-and-gold  (and  black) 
vision  ? 

Now  you  know  why  I  am  so  pleased  with  life. 

All  that  happened  last  night,  and  to-day  we  have  had 
"  excursions,"  but  no  "  alarums."  We  (every  one,  not  just 
he  and  I)  have  been  to  Kent's  Cavern,  where  prehistoric 
tigers'  teeth  grinned  at  us  from  the  walls,  and  have  taken 
a  walk  to  Babbicombe  Bay,  where  we  had  tea.  I  think  it 
was  the  loveliest  path  I  ever  saw,  that  cliff  way,  with  the 
gray  rocks,  and  the  blue  sea  into  which  the  sky  had 
emptied  itself,  like  a  cup  with  a  silver  rim.  And  the  wild 
flowers  —  the  little,  dainty,  pink-tipped  daisies,  which 
I  could  n't  bear  to  crush  —  and  the  larks  that  sprang  out 
of  the  grass!  There  are  things  that  make  you  feel  so  at 
home  in  England,  dear.  I  think  it  is  like  no  other  country 
for  that. 

To-morrow  we  are  to  motor  to  Princetown,  on  Dart- 
moor —  Eden  Phillpotts,  land  — and  are  coming  back  to 
Torquay  at  night.  If  I  have  time  I  '11  write  you  a  special 
Dartmoor  letter,  for  I  have  an  idea  that  I  shall  find  the 
moor  wonderfully  impressive.  But  we  may  n't  get  back 
till  late;  and  the  day  after  we  are  to  start  early  in  the  morn- 
ing for  Sir  Lionel's  county,  Cornwall.  Afterward  we 
shall  come  back  into  another  part  of  Devonshire,  and  see 
Bideford  and  Exmoor.  That 's  why  I  've  been  able  to 
forget  some  of  my  worries  in  "  Westward  Ho ! "  and  "  Lorna 
Doone"  lately.  But  Sir  Lionel  can't  wait  longer  for 
Cornwall,  and,  so  day-after-to-morrow  night  my  eyes  shall 
look  upon  —  only  think  of  it  —  "  dark  Tintagel  by  the 


SET  IN  SILVER  223 

Cornish   sea."    That  is,  we  shall  see  it,   Apollo    per- 
mitting, for  motors  and  men  gang  aft  aglee. 

This  isn't  apropos  of  Apollo's  usual  behaviour,  but 
of  the  stories  we  've  been  told  concerning  Dartmoor  roads. 
They  say  —  well,  there  's  nothing  to  worry  about  with 
Sir  Lionel  at  the  helm;  but  I  should  n't  wonder  if  to- 
morrow will  be  an  adventure. 

There,  now,  I  'm  sorry  I  said  that.  You  may  be 
anxious;  but  I  can't  scratch  it  out,  and  it 's  nearly  at  the 
bottom  of  such  a  big  sheet.  So  I  '11  wire  to-morrow  night, 
when  we  get  back,  and  you  '11  have  the  telegram  before 
you  have  this  letter. 

Your  how-to-be-happy-though-undeserving, 

But  ever  loving, 

AUDRIE. 


XVI 

ATJDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Still  Torquay,  Ten  Thirty 
August  1th 

DEAREST:  I  thought  the  moor  would  be  impressive.  It 
is  overwhelming.  Oh,  this  Devonshire  of  my  father's 
people  is  far  from  being  all  a  land  of  cream  and  roses ! 

Dartmoor  has  given  me  so  many  emotions  that  I  am 
tired,  but  I  must  tell  you  about  it  and  them.  When  I 
shut  my  eyes,  I  see  tors,  like  ruined  watch-towers,  against 
the  sky.  And  I  see  Princetown,  grim  and  terrible. 

No  country  can  look  its  best  on  a  map,  no  matter  what 
colour  be  chosen  to  express  it;  but  I  did  like  Dartmoor's 
rich  brown,  which  set  it  apart  from  the  green  parts  of 
Devonshire.  It  took  some  time,  though,  even  in  a  motor, 
to  come  to  the  brown;  for  our  road  was  fairy -like  as  far 
as  Holne,  Charles  Kingsley's  birthplace.  We  got  out 
there,  of  course,  and  looked  at  his  memorial  window  in 
the  charming  village  church.  At  Holne  Bridge  I  thought 
of  the  beautiful  way  to  the  Grande  Chartreuse;  so  you  can 
imagine  it  was  far  from  sterile,  although  we  were  on  the 
fringe  of  the  moor.  And  ah,  what  a  lovely  green  fringe 
the  brown  moor  wears !  It  is  all  trimmed  round  the  edge 
with  woods,  and  glens,  where  the  baby  River  Dart  goes 
laughing  by.  And  there 's  a  most  romantic  Lover's 
224 


SETINSILVER  225 

Leap,  of  course.  Strange  how  so  many  lovers,  though  of 
different  countries,  have  all  that  same  wild  desire  to  jump 
off  something !  If  I  were  a  lover  I  should  much  rather  die 
a  flat,  neat  death. 

We  saw  this  Lover's  Leap  only  at  a  distance  when  going 
toward  the  moor,  but  coming  back  —  however,  I  will  tell 
you  about  it  afterward,  when  I  come  to  Buckland  Chase, 
on  the  way  home. 

It  was  at  Holne  that  the  big  hills,  of  which  we  'd  been 
warned,  began ;  but  Apollo  merely  sniffs  at  gradients  that 
make  smaller,  meaner  motors  grunt  with  rage.  We  had 
a  car  behind  us  (which  had  started  ahead),  but  it  was 
rather  an  ominous  sign  to  see  no  "pneu"  tracks  in  the 
white  dust  of  the  road  as  we  travelled.  Other  days, 
we  have  always  had  them  to  follow;  and  it  makes  a  motor 
feel  at  home  to  know  that  his  brethren  have  come  and 
gone  that  way.  This  must  have  seemed  to  Apollo  like 
isolation;  and  as  if  to  emphasize  the  sensation  which  we 
all  shared,  suddenly  we  began  to  smell  the  moor. 

I  can't  describe  to  you  exactly  what  that  smell  was  like, 
but  we  knew  it  was  the  moor.  The  air  became  alive  and 
life-giving.  It  tingled  with  a  cold  breath  of  the  north,  and 
one  thought  of  granite  with  the  sun  on  it,  and  broom  in 
blossom,  and  coarse  grass  such  as  mountain -sheep  love, 
though  one  saw  none  of  those  things  yet.  The  scenery 
was  still  gentle  and  friendly,  and  the  baby  Dart  was  sing- 
ing at  the  top  of  its  voice.  Really,  it  was  almost  a  tune. 
I  felt,  as  I  listened,  that  it  would  be  easy  to  set  it  to  music. 
The  moss-covered  stones  round  which  purled  the  clear 
water  looked  like  the  whole  notes  and  half  notes,  all  ready 
to  be  pushed  into  place,  so  that  the  tune  might  "arrange 


226  SET  IN  SILVER 

itself."  And  the  amber  brown  of  the  stream  was  mottled 
with  gold  under  the  surface,  as  if  a  sack  full  of  sovereigns 
had  been  emptied  into  the  river. 

The  first  tor  on  our  horizon  was  Sharp  Tor,  which  the 
Dart  evidently  feared.  The  poor  little  river  disappeared 
at  sight  of  it,  hurrying  away  from  its  frown,  and  as  the 
stream  vanished  all  the  dainty  charm  of  the  landscape 
fled,  too.  We  saw  the  moor  towering  toward  us,  stern 
and  barren,  with  that  great  watch-tower  of  Nature's 
pinning  it  to  the  sky. 

Moorland  ponies  raced  to  and  fro,  mad  with  the  joy  of 
some  game  they  were  playing,  and  they  were  not  afraid  of 
us.  I  should  think  the  live  things  of  the  moor  were  afraid 
of  nothing  that  could  come  to  them  out  of  the  world  beyond, 
for  that  pungent  air  breathes  "courage,"  and  the  gray 
granite,  breaking  through  the  poor  coat  of  grass,  dares 
the  eyes  that  look  at  it  not  to  be  brave. 

Near  the  moorland  ponies  —  on  Holne  Moor  —  we 
came  to  the  strangest  reservoir  you  could  dream  of.  It  was 
vast,  and  blue  as  a  block  fallen  out  of  the  sky;  and  once, 
Sir  Lionel  said,  it 'had  been  a  lake,  though  now  it  gives 
water  to  the  prison  town.  An  old  road  used  to  run 
through  it;  and  to  this  day  you  can  see  the  bridge  under 
water.  The  story  is  that  strange  forms  cross  that  bridge 
at  night.  I  'm  sure  it 's  true,  for  anything  could  happen 
on  the  moor,  and  of  course  it  swarms  with  pixies.  You 
believe  that,  don't  you?  Well,  anyway,  you  would  if 
you  saw  the  moor. 

The  next  tor  was  nameless  for  us,  but  it  was  even  finer 
than  Sharp  Tor.  After  seeing  Stonehenge  I  felt  so  certain 
it  must  be  Druidical  that  it  was  disappointing  to  hear  it 


SET  IN  SILVER  227 

wasn't — that  all  such  theories  about  the  tors  had 
"exploded."  Afterward  there  were  lots  of  tors;  and 
there  were  tin  mines,  too,  not  far  from  our  wild,  desolate 
road  —  tin  mines  that  have  always  been  worked,  they  say, 
since  the  days  of  the  Phoenicians.  I  should  have  been 
more  interested  in  thinking  about  them,  however,  if  we 
had  n't  just  then  begun  gliding  down  a  hill  which,  from 
the  top,  looked  as  if  it  might  go  straight  through  to  China. 
My  toes  felt  as  if  they  'd  been  done  up  in  curl-papers  for 
years.  But  there  was  a  savage  joy  in  the  creepiness  of  it, 
and  Apollo  "chunk-chunked"  sturdily  down,  in  a  nice, 
dependable  way,  toward  a  lonely  village,  which  I  felt  sure 
was  entirely  populated  by  Eden  Phillpotts  people.  He, 
and  the  other  authors  who  write  about  the  moor,  invari- 
ably make  their  leading  characters  have  "primitive  pas- 
sions," so  I  thought  perhaps  the  faces  of  the  moor  folk 
would  be  wilder  and  stranger,  and  have  more  meaning 
than  other  civilized  faces.  But  all  those  I  saw  looked  just 
like  everybody  else,  and  I  was  so  disappointed!  They 
even  dropped  their  "h's";  and  once,  when  we  stopped  a 
moment  at  a  place  where  Sir  Lionel  was  n't  sure  of  the  way, 
I  asked  a  boy  on  a  rough  pony  the  names  of  some  trees 
we  had  passed.  "H'ash  and  green  h'elm,  miss,"  said  he. 
It  was  a  blow! 

Toward  eleven,  the  sun  had  drunk  up  the  cold  mist, 
and  the  moor  basked  in  heat.  We  were  in  an  empty 
world,  save  for  a  cottage  now  and  then,  and  a  Cyclopean 
wall  of  stones  loosely  piled  one  upon  another.  Yet  this 
was  the  main  road  from  Ashburton  to  Princetown! 
Apollo  glided  along  a  desolate  white  way  between  creamy 
and  silver  grasses  artistically  intermingled,  and  burning, 


228  SET  IN  SILVER 

golden  gorse,  which  caught  the  sun.  The  splendid,  dig- 
nified loneliness  of  the  moor  was  like  the  retreat  chosen  by 
a  hermit  god !  There  may  be  only  twenty  square  miles  of 
moor,  but  it  feels  like  a  hundred. 

Hexworthy  and  the  Forest  Inn,  which  we  came  to  in  a 
valley,  were  curiously  Swiss,  all  but  the  ancient  cross 
which  made  me  think  of  Eden  Phillpotts's  "American 
Prisoner."  How  can  I  say  an"  ancient"  cross,  though,  when 
the  really  old  things  on  the  moor  began  not  only  before 
Christ,  but  before  history  —  the  stone  circles,  the  cairns 
and  the  cromlechs,  the  kistvaen  and  the  barrows!  The 
hut  circles,  where  a  forgotten  people  used  to  live,  are 
strewn  in  thousands  over  the  moor,  and  cooking  utensils 
are  sometimes  dug  up,  even  now;  so  you  see,  everything 
is  n't  discovered  yet.  The  people  had  n't  any  metal  to 
work  with,  poor  creatures,  until  the  Bronze  Age,  and  they 
clothed  themselves  in  skins,  which  I  suppose  their  dress- 
makers and  tailors  made  when  the  sheep  and  cows  that 
wore  them  first  had  been  cut  up  and  eaten.  I  wonder  if 
girls  were  pretty  in  those  days,  or  men  handsome,  and  if 
anyone  cared  ?  But  I  suppose  knowing  the  difference 
between  ugliness  and  beauty  is  as  old  as  Adam  and  Eve. 
If  Eve  had  n't  been  pretty,  Adam  would  n't  have  looked 
at  her,  but  would  have  waited  in  the  hope  of  something 
better. 

The  first  sight  of  Princetown  only  intensified  the  loneli- 
ness of  the  moor,  somehow,  partly  because  it  loomed  so 
gray  and  grim,  partly,  perhaps,  because  we  knew  it  to  be 
a  prison  town.  The  dark  buildings  looked  as  much  a 
natural  growth  of  the  moor  as  those  ruined  temples  on  the 
horizon,  which  were  tors.  It  was  almost  impossible  to 


SET  IN  SILVER  229 

believe  that  Plymouth  was  only  fifteen  miles  away.  And 
the  sombreness  and  gloom  of  the  melancholy  place 
increased  instead  of  diminished  as  we  drew  nearer  to  it, 
after  leaving  behind  us  the  pleasant  oasis  of  Tor  Bridge 
and  its  little  hotel  that  anglers  and  walkers  love. 

The  prison  settlement  was  stuck  like  a  black  vice-spot 
in  the  midst  of  wide  purity.  Gloom  hung  over  it  in  a  pall, 
and  stole  the  warmth  from  the  sunshine.  What  a  town 
to  name  after  a  Prince  Regent!  and  what  a  town  to  have 
lunch  in!  Yet  it  was  a  singularly  good  lunch. 

We  ate  it  in  a  hotel  built  of  gray  stone,  with  gray  stone 
colonnades,  which  looked  like  an  annex  to  the  prison. 
There  was  meat  pie,  which  one  expected  to  find  smoking 
hot,  and  it  gave  quite  a  shock  to  find  it  not  only  cold,  but 
iced.  There  was  a  big,  cool  dining-room,  all  mysteiious, 
creeping  shadows,  and  queer  echoes  when  one  dared  to 
speak.  And  unless  one  did  speak  the  silence  sent  a  chill 
through  one's  body,  but  it  was  an  interesting  chill.  Cer- 
tainly the  hotel  was  the  strangest  I  ever  saw;  and  the  hotel 
dog  was  like  no  other  animal  on  land  or  sea.  He  appeared 
to  be  a  mixture  of  brindled  bull  and  Irish  terrier,  with  long 
side-whiskers  on  a  bull-dog  face.  He  was  a  nightmare, 
but  he  loved  Devonshire  cream  and  junket,  and  ate  them 
as  if  he  were  a  lamb. 

We  stayed  a  long  time  in  Princetown,  and  then  started 
to  go  home  by  a  different  way.  Out  of  a  vast  moorland 
tract  we  descended  to  Dartmoor  Bridge,  the  prettiest  oasis 
in  the  wild  desert  of  moor  which  we  had  seen  yet.  But 
soon  we  were  back  in  moorland  again,  with  tors  rising  up 
to  snatch  at  heaven  with  their  dark  claws.  Each  one 
seemed  different  from  all  the  rest,  just  as  people's  faces  are 


230  SET  IN  SILVER 

different  in  crowds.  Some  were  like  crests  of  waves, 
petrified  as  they  were  ready  to  break;  but  the  weirdest  of 
all  were  exactly  like  ruined  forts  of  dwarfs.  And  presently 
the  scenery  changed  again  in  a  kaleidoscopic  way.  We 
came  to  lovely  Houndsgate,  with  a  great,  deep  wonder- 
valley  far  below  us,  only  to  return  to  a  region  of  tors  and 
bracken,  and  to  plunge  down  the  most  tremendous  hill  of 
all  —  a  hill  which  was  like  gliding  down  the  glassy  side  of 
an  ocean  wave. 

I  had  just  exclaimed,  "See,  there  's  a  motor  ahead  of 
us!"  when  an  extraordinary  thing  happened.  The  car 
going  before  us,  very  fast,  suddenly  ran  to  the  side  of 
the  steep  road,  stopped,  some  people  jumped  out,  and  at 
the  same  instant  a  great  flame  spouted  straight  up  toward 
the  sky. 

Not  one  of  us  said  one  word,  except  Emily,  who 
squeaked,  and  cried,  "Oh,  Lionel!  we  shall  all  be  killed 
and  burned  up!" 

Of  course,  Sir  Lionel  did  n't  answer.  I  would  have 
given  anything  to  be  in  Mrs.  Senter's  place,  sitting  beside 
him,  so  that  I  could  see  his  face,  and  guess  what  he  meant 
to  do.  But  it  was  decided  and  done  in  a  few  seconds. 
He  took  Apollo  on  a  little  farther,  and  then  stopped  as 
near  the  burning  motor  as  he  dared,  so  that  there  might 
be  no  danger  of  our  catching  fire.  Before  we  could  have 
counted  "one,  two,"  he  had  sprung  from  the  car  and  was 
running  toward  the  fiery  chariot,  with  Young  Nick  flying 
after  him.  Dick  Burden  got  down,  too,  and  sauntered  in 
their  wake,  but  he  did  n't  go  very  fast. 

It  was  so  exciting  and  confusing  that  I  scarcely  under- 
stood at  first  what  was  happening,  but  Sir  Lionel  tore  off 


SET  IN  SILVER  231 

his  coat  as  he  ran,  and  flung  it  round  the  woman  from  the 
other  car.  She  had  not  been  on  fire  when  she  jumped  out, 
but  the  grass  and  bushes  close  by  the  road  had  already 
begun  to  blaze,  and  her  dress  had  caught  in  the  flame. 
She  was  tall  and  big,  but  Sir  Lionel  lifted  her  up  as  if  she  'd 
been  a  child,  and,  wrapped  in  his  coat,  laid  her  down  at 
a  little  distance  on  the  grass,  where  he  rolled  her  over,  and 
put  out  the  fire.  Then,  when  she  was  on  her  feet  again, 
panting  and  sobbing  a  little,  he  and  the  other  men  began 
stamping  out  the  flames  playing  among  the  low  bushes, 
lest  they  spread  along  the  moor.  As  for  the  car,  Sir 
Lionel  said  afterward  it  was  hopeless  trying  to  save  her, 
as  there  were  gallons  and  gallons  of  petrol  to  burn  (it 
was  her  brakes  that  had  got  on  fire,  and  ignited  the  rest), 
and  no  sand  or  anything  of  that  sort  to  throw  on.  But 
while  we  were  staring  at  the  strange  scene,  the  flames  died 
down,  having  drunk  up  all  the  petrol;  and  whether  some 
part  of  the  mechanism  which  held  the  red-hot  brakes  in 
place  gave  way  suddenly,  I  don't  know.  All  I  do  know  is, 
that  the  car  quivered,  moved  forward,  began  running  down 
the  tremendous  hill,  faster  and  faster,  until,  with  a  wild 
bound,  she  disappeared  from  our  sight  over  a  precipice. 
By  this  time  we  were  all  out,  except  Emily,  hurrying 
down  the  hill,  to  talk  to  the  people  who  had  lost  their  car ; 
but  would  you  believe  it,  they  hardly  cared  for  their  loss, 
now  they  were  out  of  danger  ?  It  was  a  bride  and  groom, 
with  their  chauffeur,  and  they  were  Americans,  staying 
at  the  Imperial,  in  Torquay.  The  bridegroom  was 
elderly  but  humorous,  and  told  us  he  used  to  hate  motors 
and  kept  tortoises  for  pets,  because  he  liked  everything  that 
moved  slowly,  all  his  ancestors  having  come  from  Phila- 


232  SET  IN  SILVER 

delphia.  But  the  girl  he  loved  would  n't  marry  him  unless 
he  promised  to  take  her  to  England  on  an  automobile  trip. 
Now  he  hoped  she  had  had  enough,  and  would  let  him  go 
back  to  tortoises  again. 

He  said  he  had  never  enjoyed  anything  so  much  as  seeing 
the  car's  red-hot  skeleton  jump  over  the  precipice,  where  it 
could  not  hurt  anyone,  but  would  just  fall  quietly  to  pieces 
on  the  rocks. 

The  bride  was  great  fun,  too,  and  as  she  comes  from 
St.  Louis,  it  is  not  likely  she  will  cultivate  tortoises.  When 
we  took  them  all  three  back  to  Torquay  with  us,  squashed 
in  anyhow,  she  talked  about  running  over  to  Paris  and 
buying  a  balloon  or  an  aeroplane!  We  came  by  way  of 
the  Buckland  Chase,  as  it  is  called — private  property; 
and  an  elfin  glen  of  beauty,  for  mile  after  mile,  with  the 
Dart  singing  below,  and  the  Lover's  Leap  so  close  that  it 
seemed  painfully  realistic  —  especially  after  the  adventure 
of  the  car  which  leaped  into  space. 

Sir  Lionel  got  his  coat  burnt,  and  his  hands  a  little,  too; 
but  he  would  drive,  though  Young  Nick  might  have  done 
so  as  well  as  not. 

After  all  we  shan't  get  to  Cornwall  to-morrow!  Sir 
Lionel  says  it  would  be  a  crime  to  leave  this  part  of  the 
world  without  going  up  the  Dart  (the  "  Rhine  of  England") 
in  a  boat,  and  seeing  the  beautiful  old  Butter  Market  at 
Dartmouth. 

I  shall  send  you  postcards  from  there,  if  I   have   the 
chance,  for  it 's  very  historic.     It  will  be  Cornwall  the  day 
after,  but  I  shall  have  to  wire  my  next  address. 
With  all  the  love  of 

YOUR  MOORLAND  PRINCESS. 


SETINSILVER  233 

P.  S.  You  ought  to  have  seen  Emily  and  Mrs.  Senter 
fussing  over  Sir  Lionel  when  he  burnt  his  hands !  He  hates 
being  fussed  over,  and  was  almost  cross,  until  our  eyes 
happened  to  meet,  and  then  we  both  smiled.  That 
seemed  to  make  him  good-natured  again.  And  he  is 
wonderfully  patient  with  his  sister,  really. 


XVII 

MRS.  SENTER  TO  HER  SISTER,  MRS.  BURDEN,  AT 
GLEN  LACHLAN,  N.  B. 

White  Hart  Hotel,  Launceston,  Cornwall 
Aug.  10th 

MY  DEAR  Sis :  It  came  off  all  right.  My  things  usually 
do,  don't  they?  "With  some  women,  it  is  only  their  lip- 
salve and  face  powder  that  come  off.  With  me,  it  is  plans. 
Luckily  I  inherited  mamma's  genius  -for  high  diplomacy, 
while  you,  alas,  only  came  in  for  her  rheumatism.  And 
by  the  way,  how  are  your  poor  dear  bones  ?  Not  devilled, 
I  hope  ?  Do  forgive  the  cheap  wit.  I  am  obliged  to  save 
my  best  things  for  Sir  Lionel .  He  appreciates  them  highly, 
which  is  one  comfort;  but  it  is  rather  a  strain  living  up  to 
him  (though  I  do  think  it  will  pay  in  the  end),  and  in  inter- 
course with  my  family  I  must  be  allowed  to  rest  my  brain. 
When  everything  is  settled,  one  way  or  the  other,  my 
features,  also,  shall  have  repose.  To  keep  young,  every 
woman  ought  to  go  into  retirement  for  at  least  one  month 
out  of  the  twelve,  a  fortnight  at  a  time,  perhaps,  and  do 
nothing  but  eat  and  sleep,  see  nobody,  talk  to  nobody, 
think  of  nothing,  and  especially  not  smile.  If  one  followed 
that  regime  religiously,  with  or  without  prayer  and  fasting, 
one  need  never  have  crow's-feet. 

Of  course,  with  you  it  is  different.    You  have  now 

£34 


SET  IN  SILVER  235 

decided  to  live  for  Dick,  and  let  your  waist  measure  look 
after  itself;  but  I  have  larger  aims  and  fewer  years  than 
you,  dearest.  My  conception  of  self-respecting  widow- 
hood is  to  be  as  young  as  possible,  as  attractive  as  possible, 
as  rich  as  possible,  and  eventually  to  read  my  title  clear  to 
(at  least)  a  baronet,  and  have  a  castle  in  a  good  hunting 
county.  There  are  difficulties  in  my  upward  way,  yet  I 
feel  strongly  I  shall  overcome  them.  Let  my  motto  be, 
"  The  battle  to  the  smart,  and  the  situation  to  the  pretty.'* 
Why  should  n't  I  triumph  on  both  counts  ?  The  ward, 
to  be  sure,  is  pretty,  and  is  in  the  situation;  but  she 
does  n't  know  her  own  advantages,  and  I  'm  not  sure 
she  would  marry  Sir  Lionel  if  he  asked  her;  which  at 
present  he  apparently  has  no  intention  of  doing,  although 
he  admires  her  more  warmly  than  either  Dick  or  I  think 
advisable  in  a  guardian. 

Since  I  wrote  you  last,  just  before  starting  on  this  motor 
match-making  venture  of  ours,  there  have  been  several 
new  developments.  I  don't  know  whether  you  are  any 
deeper  in  Dick's  confidence,  in  this  affair,  than  I  am 
(though  I  fancy  not),  but  I  scent  a  mystery.  Dick  really 
has  detective  talent,  dear  Sis,  and  if  I  were  you,  I 
should  n't  oppose  his  setting  up  as  a  sort  of  art  nouveau 
Sherlock  Holmes.  Whether  he  has  found  out  about  some 
schoolgirl  peccadillo  of  Miss  Lethbridge's,  and  is  dangling 
it  over  her  head,  Damocles  sword  fashion,  I  can't  tell, 
because  he  won't  tell;  though  he  looks  offensively  wise 
when  I  tease  him,  and  I  have  tried  in  vain,  on  my  own 
account,  to  discover.  But  certain  it  is  that  he  is  either 
blackmailing  her  in  a  milk-and-water  way,  or  hypnotizing 
her  to  obey  his  orders. 


236  SETINS1LVER 

He  hinted,  you  know,  that  he  could  get  the  girl  to  make 
Sir  Lionel  invite  us  to  join  the  motoring  party;  but  I 
supposed  then  that  she  had  a  weakness  of  the  heart  where 
my  dear  nephew  was  concerned.  Now,  my  opinion  is  that 
she  dislikes,  yet  fears  him.  Not  very  complimentary  to 
Dick,  but  he  does  n't  seem  to  mind,  and  is  enjoying  him- 
self immensely  in  his  own  deliciously,  impertinently,  perky 
way.  Somehow  or  other  he  has  induced  her  to  be  more  or 
less  engaged  to  him,  a  temporary  arrangement,  I  under- 
stand, but  pleasing  to  him  and  convenient  to  me.  What 
Dick  gets  out  of  it,  I  don't  know,  and  don't  enquire;  but 
/  get  out  of  it  the  satisfaction  of  "  shelving  "  the  girl  as  a 
possible  rival. 

Sir  Lionel,  who  (it 's  useless  to  spare  your  motherly 
vanity !)  has  no  very  warm  appreciation  of  Dick's  qualities, 
is  disgusted  with  his  ward  for  encouraging  D.'s  advances, 
and  is  inclined  to  turn  to  me  for  sympathy.  In  that 
branch  I  am  a  great  success,  and  altogether  am  getting 
on  like  a  house  afire.  What  if  I  do  have  to  pump  up  an 
intelligent  interest  in  politics  in  general,  and  affairs  in 
the  Far  East  in  particular?  I  am  fortunately  so  con- 
stituted that  fifteen  minutes'  study  of  the  Times,  washed 
down  by  early  tea  (taken  strong),  enables  me  to  discourse 
brilliantly  on  the  deepest  subjects  during  the  day;  and, 
thank  goodness,  virtue  is  rewarded  in  the  evening  with 
a  little  bridge.  If  I  am  ever  Lady  Pendragon  (sounds 
well,  does  n't  it  ?)  it  shall  be  all  bridge  and  skittles, 
for  me  —  and  devil  take  politics,  military  science, 
history,  the  classics,  Herbert  Spencer,  Robert  Brown- 
ing, Shakespeare,  and  all  other  boring  or  out-of-date 
things  and  writers  (if  he  has  n't  already  taken  them) 


SET  IN  SILVER  237 

on  which  I  am  now  obliged  to  keep  up  a  sort  of 
Maxim-fire  of  conversation. 

As  to  Dick's  affairs,  however,  if  the  girl  really  is  the 
heiress  we  thought  her,  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  use 
my  influence  in  every  direction  at  once,  to  make  the  tem- 
porary arrangement  a  permanent  one.  But  the  worst 
of  it  is,  I  'm  not  at  all  sure  that  she  is  any  sort  of  an  heiress. 

Sir  Lionel  intimated  to  me  the  other  night,  when  I  was 
tactfully  tickling  him  with  hints,  that  she  has  little 
except  what  he  may  choose  to  give  her.  If  that  be  true,  I 
fear  as  Mrs.  Dick  her  dot  will  not  be  large;  but  it  strikes 
me  as  very  probable  that  he  was  only  trying  to  put  me  off  — 
or  rather,  to  put  Dick  off,  if  Dick  were  fortune-hunting. 
I  don't  know  whether  to  believe  his  version  or  not,  there- 
fore; but  I  did  get  at  one  fact  which  may  help  us  to  find 
out  for  ourselves.  Dear  Ellaline  is  a  daughter  of  Frederic 
Lethbridge.  It  was  rather  a  shock  to  hear  this,  for  I 
have  a  vague  impression  that  there  was  once  a  scandal, 
quite  a  ripe,  juicy  scandal,  about  a  Frederic  Lethbridge. 
Can  it  have  been  this  Frederic  Lethbridge,  and  if  so, 
had  it  anything  to  do  with  money  matters  ? 

I  have  n't  mentioned  my  doubts  to  Dick,  because 
he  really  is  idiotically  in  love  with  the  girl,  and  is 
capable  of  foolishness.  I  intend  to  let  him  go  on  as  he  is 
going  for  the  present,  as  he  can  do  himself  no  harm,  and 
can  do  me  a  great  deal  of  good,  by  keeping  his  darling  out 
of  my  way  and  Sir  Lionel's  thoughts.  But  of  course,  he 
must  n't  be  allowed  to  marry  her  if  she  has  nothing  of 
her  own.  Sir  Lionel  is  rich,  but  not  rich  enough  to 
make  his  ward  rich  enough  for  Dick,  and  keep  plenty  for 
his  wife  —  when  he  gets  one  —  if  she  be  anything  like  me. 


238  SETINSILVER 

Your  dear  hostess,  who  would  by  this  time  be  my  hos- 
tess if  I  were  n't  otherwise  engaged,  knows  everything 
and  everybody.  Not  only  that,  she  has  done  both  for 
a  considerable  term  of  years.  You  remember  the  joke 
about  her  being  torn  between  the  desire  not  to  exceed  the 
age  of  forty-five  and  yet  to  boast  a  friendship  with  Lord 
Beaconsfield?  Well,  she  can  have  known  Frederic 
Lethbridge,  and  all  about  him,  without  being  a  day  over 
forty,  as  that  is  Sir  Lionel's  age,  and  Mrs.  Lethbridge 
was  a  distant  relative  of  his. 

Tell  Lady  MacRae  that.  Say  that  the  Frederic 
Lethbridge  you  are  inquiring  about  married  a  Miss  de 
Nesville,  and  that  there  is  a  daughter  in  existence,  a  girl 
of  nineteen.  If  Lady  Mac  does  n't  know  anything,  get 
her  to  ask  her  friends;  but  do  hurry  up  for  Dick's  sake, 
there  's  a  dear,  otherwise  I  shan't  be  able  to  pull  the 
strings  as  you  would  like  me  to;  and  already  my  sweet 
nerves  are  jangled,  out  of  tune.  Dear  Lady  Mac  is  so 
adorably  frank,  when  she  has  something  disagreeable  to 
say,  that  you  '11  have  no  difficulty  in  ferreting  out  the 
truth  —  if  it 's  anything  nasty.  For  most  reasons  I  hope 
it  is  n't,  as  a  rich  girl  would  be  a  valuable  bird  in  the 
hand  for  Dick;  and  I  am  on  the  spot  to  see  his  affairs 
as  well  as  my  own  through,  whatever  happens. 

For  my  part,  if  Sir  Lionel  were  n't  up  to  such  a  f  atiguingly 
high  level  of  intelligence,  I  believe  I  could  fall  in  love  with 
him.  He  may  be  descended  from  King  Arthur,  but  he 
looks  more  like  Lancelot,  and  I  fancy  might  make  love 
rather  nicely,  once  he  let  himself  go.  Although  it 's 
long  since  he  did  any  soldiering,  he  shows  that  he  was  a 
soldier,  born,  not  made.  He  has  improved,  if  anything, 


SET  IN  SILVER  239 

since  we  knew  him  in  India,  but  I  remember  you  used  to 
be  quite  afraid  of  having  to  talk  to  him  then,  and  preferred 
Colonel  O'Hagan,  whom  you  thought  jolly  and  good- 
natured,  though,  somehow,  I  never  got  on  with  him  very 
well.  I  always  had  the  feeling  he  was  trying  to  read  me, 
and  I  do  dislike  that  sort  of  thing  in  a  man.  It  ruins 
human  intercourse,  and  takes  away  all  natural  desire  to 
flirt. 

You  ask  me  how  I  endure  Emily  Norton.  Well,  as  I 
sit  beside  Sir  Lionel  in  the  car,  I  don't  need  to  bother 
with  her  much  in  the  daytime.  She  hates  bridge,  and 
thinks  playing  for  money  wrong  in  most  circumstances, 
but  considers  it  her  duty  to  please  her  brother's  guests; 
and  as  she  never  wins,  anyhow,  it  need  n't  affect  her  con- 
science. I  tell  her  that  I  always  give  my  winnings 
to  charity,  and  did  n't  think  it  necessary  to  add  that,  to 
my  idea,  charity  should  not  only  begin  at  home,  but  end 
there,  unless  its  resources  were  unlimited.  The  poor, 
dull  thing  has  that  kind  of  self-conscious  religion  that 
sends  her  soul  trotting  every  other  minute  to  look  in  the 
glass,  and  see  that  it  has  n't  smudged  itself.  So  trying! 
Once  she  asked  me  what  I  did  for  my  soul  ?  I  longed 
to  tell  her  I  took  cod-liver  oil,  or  Somebody's  Fruit  Salt, 
but  did  n't  dare,  on  account  of  Sir  Lionel.  And  she  has 
such  a  conceited  way  of  saying,  when  speaking  of  the 
future:  "If  the  Lord  spares  me  till  next  year,  I  will  do 
so  and  so."  As  if  He  were  in  immediate  need  of  her,  but 
might  be  induced  to  get  on  without  her  for  a  short  time! 

One  would  know,  by  the  way  she  screws  up  her  hair, 
that  she  could  never  have  felt  a  temptation.  But  I  shall 
not  let  myself  be  troubled  much  with  her  if  I  marry  Sir 


240  SET  IN  SILVER 

Lionel.  She  can  go  back  to  her  doctor  and  her  curates, 
and  be  invited  for  Christmas  to  Gray  lees,  which,  by  the 
way,  I  hope  to  inspect  when  we  have  finished  this  tour. 

I  am  looking  quite  lovely  in  my  motoring  things,  and 
enjoying  myself  very  much,  on  the  whole. 

Devonshire  I  found  too  hot  for  this  time  of  the  year, 
but  the  scenery  is  pretty.  I  had  no  idea  what  a  jolly 
little  river  the  Dart  is;  and  Dartmouth  is  rather  quaint. 
For  those  who  are  keen  on  old  things,  I  suppose  the 
Butter  Market  would  be  interesting;  but  I  can't  really 
see  why,  because  things  happened  in  certain  places  hun- 
dreds of  years  ago,  one  should  stand  and  stare  at  walls 
or  windows,  or  fireplaces.  The  things  must  have 
happened  somewhere!  Although  Charles  the  Second, 
for  instance,  may  have  been  great  fun  to  know,  and 
one  would  have  enjoyed  flirting  with  him,  now  that 
he  's  been  dead  and  out  of  reach  for  ages,  he  's  of  no 
importance  to  me. 

We  left  Torquay  yesterday,  and  arrived  here  in  the 
evening,  after  a  hilly  but  nice  run,  and  lunching  at  Ply- 
mouth. Of  course,  a  lot  of  nonsense  was  talked  about 
Sir  Francis  Drake.  One  almost  forgets  what  the  old  boy 
did,  except  to  play  bowls  or  something;  but  I  have  a  way 
of  seeming  to  know  things,  for  which  I  deserve  more  credit 
than  anyone  (save  you)  would  guess.  When  they  were 
not  jabbering  about  him  at  lunch,  it  was  about  the  May- 
flower, which  apparently  sailed  from  Plymouth  for  the 
purpose  of  supplying  Americans  with  ancestors.  I  never 
met  any  Americans  yet,  except  the  kind  who  boast  of 
having  begun  as  shoeblacks,  whose  great-great-grand- 
parents did  n't  cross  in  the  Mayflower.  It  must  have  been 


SET  IN  SILVER  241 

a  huge  ship,  or  else  a  lot  of  the  ancestors  went  in  the 
steerage,  or  were  stewards  or  stowaways. 

There  was  a  ferry,  getting  from  Devonshire  into  Corn- 
wall, so  of  course  we  just  missed  a  boat  and  had  to  wait 
half  an  hour.  I  was  dying  to  go  to  sleep,  but  the  others 
were  as  chirpy  as  possible,  gabbling  Cornish  legends. 
When  I  say  the  "others,"  I  mean  Sir  Lionel  and  Ellaline 
Lethbridge.  I  did  n't  know  any  legends,  but  I  made  up 
several  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  much  more  exciting 
than  theirs,  and  that  pleased  Sir  Lionel,  as  he 
is  a  Cornishman.  Heavens,  how  I  did  take  it  out  of 
myself  admiring  his  native  land  when  we  'd  got  across 
that  ferry!  Said  the  scenery  was  quite  different  from 
that  of  Devonshire,  at  the  first  go  off;  and  I  'm  not  sure 
there  were  n't  differences.  The  road  coming  toward 
Launceston  really  was  romantic;  rock- walled  part 
of  the  way,  with  a  lot  of  pink  and  yellow  lichen;  and 
again,  fine  open  spaces  with  distant  blue  downs  against 
a  sky  which  looked,  as  I  remarked  to  Sir  Lionel,  as  if  the 
gods  had  poured  a  libation  of  golden  wine  over  it.  Not 
bad,  that,  was  it  ?  I  believe  we  passed  an  Arthurian  battle- 
field, which  naturally  interested  him  immensely,  therefore 
had  to  interest  poor  me !  He  seems  to  think  there  actually 
was  an  Arthur,  and  was  quite  pleased  with  me  for  saying 
that  all  the  Cornish  names  of  places  rang  with  romance 
like  fairy  bells  sounding  from  under  the  sea  —  perhaps  from 
Atlantis.  Anyhow,  they  're  a  relief  after  such  Devonshire 
horrors  as  Meavy  and  Hoo  Meavy,  which  are  like  the 
lisping  of  babies.  Sir  Lionel  thought  the  "derivations" 
of  such  names  an  absorbing  subject!  But  living  in  the 
East  so  long  has  made  him  quixotically  patriotic. 


242  SETINSILVER 

Here  and  there  we  passed  a  whole  villageful  of  white- 
washed cottages,  with  purplish-brown  moss  covering  their 
roofs  —  rather  picturesque;  and  some  of  the  slate-roofed, 
stone  houses  are  nice  in  their  way,  too;  I  suppose  dis- 
tinctively Cornish.  Not  that  I  care!  I  'm  glad  Graylees 
Castle  is  n't  in  Cornwall,  which  is  much  too  far  from  town. 

There  were  some  mine-shafts  about,  to  mar  the  scenery, 
toward  the  end  of  the  journey,  and  the  road  surface  was 
bad  compared  to  what  we  've  had.  If  the  car  were  n't 
a  very  good  one,  we  should  have  suffered  from  the  bumps. 
Ellaline  Lethbridge,  by  the  way,  said  something  about 
Cornwall  which  puzzled  me.  Suddenly  she  exclaimed: 
"Why,  the  atmosphere  here  is  like  Spain!  Everything 
swims  in  a  sea  of  coloured  lights!"  I  thought  she'd 
spent  all  her  life  at  school  in  France,  and  I  mentioned  the 
impression,  upon  which  she  replied,  with  an  air  of  being 
taken  aback:  "I  mean,  from  what  I  have  heard  of  Spain." 
Can  she  have  had  an  escapade,  I  wonder?  But  that  is 
Dick's  business,  not  mine  —  at  present. 

There  's  a  castle  in  Launceston,  which  has  kept  us  over 
to-day,  as  Sir  Lionel  has  been  in  these  parts  before,  and 
can't  rest  unless  we  see  everything  he  admired  in  his  youth. 
I  wish  he  had  n't  seen  so  much,  there  'd  be  less  for  us  to  do. 
I  Jiate  pottering  about,  seeing  sights  in  the  rain,  and  it 
has  been  trying  to  rain  all  day.  It 's  well  enough  to  say 
that  the  rain  rains  alike  on  the  just  and  the  unjust,  but 
that  is  not  true,  as  some  women's  hair  curls  naturally. 
Ellaline's  does,  and  mine  does  n't  —  except  the  part  I 
owe  for  at  Truefitt's. 

It 's  an  old  hotel  that  we  're  in,  quite  pleased  to  show  its 
age;  and  I  have  made  rather  a  beast  of  myself  with  some 


SET  IN  SILVER  243 

sort  of  Cornish  pasty,  which,  it  seems,  is  a  local  favourite, 
and  spoils  the  peasants'  teeth.  Cornish  cream  is  good, 
and,  I  understand  from  Sir  Lionel,  was  invented  by  the 
Phoenicians.  I  suppose  they  drowned  their  sorrows  in  it 
while  working  in  the  tin  mines  one  always  associates  with 
them. 

We  go  to  Tintagel  to-morrow,  and  do  some  other 
Cornish  things,  I  don't  know  what.  But  write  to  me  at 
Bideford,  as  we  shall  be  back  in  Devonshire  in  a  few  days 
on  our  way  —  I  fancy  —  toward  Wales.  I  long  to  hear 
what  you  or  Lady  Mac  may  have  up  your  sleeves  about 
the  dear  Ellaline's  papa. 

Ever  your  affectionate 

GWEN. 

Dick  sends  his  love,  and  will  write. 


XVIII 

MRS.   SENTER  TO  HER   SISTER,   MRS.   BURDEN 

King  Arthur's  Castle,  Tintagel 
Aug.  12th 

MY  DEAR  Sis :  I  'm  sorry  I  told  you  to  write  to  Bide- 
ford,  as  we  're  stopping  at  this  place  several  days,  and  I 
might  have  had  your  answer  here.  However,  it 's  too 
late  now,  as  by  this  time  your  letter  is  in  the  post,  perhaps, 
and  we  may  or  may  not  leave  to-morrow.  I  think  I  can 
be  pretty  sure  your  wire  to  Dick  means  that  you  'd  heard 
from  me,  and  that  the  news  for  him  is  not  favourable. 
If  he  guessed  that  I  'd  been  questioning  you  about  the 
eligibility  of  his  girl,  frankly  I  doubt  if  he  'd  have  swallowed 
the  bait  of  your  telegram.  Even  as  it  was  he  seemed 
restive,  and  did  n't  yearn  to  be  packed  off  to  Scotland, 
even  for  a  few  days.  However,  he  'd  committed  himself  by 
reading  your  message  aloud,  before  he  stopped  to  think; 
and  when  Sir  Lionel  and  Ellaline  had  learned  that  you 
were  ill,  and  wanted  him,  they  would  have  been  shocked 
if  he  'd  refused  to  go.  I  comforted  him  by  promising  to 
sow  strife  between  ward  and  guardian,  as  often  and 
diligently  as  possible,  until  he  can  get  back  to  look  after 
his  own  interests,  and  I  shall  do  my  best  to  keep  the 
promise  —  not  for  Dick's  sake  alone. 

He  was  off  within  an  hour  after  the  telegram,  a  little 
244 


SET  IN  SILVER  245 

sulky,  but  not  too  worried,  as  he  has  the  faith  engendered 
by  experience  in  your  recuperative  powers.  I,  naturally, 
worry  still  less,  as  I  have  a  clue  to  the  mystery  of  your 
attack  which  Dick  does  n't  possess.  I  quite  believe  that 
by  the  time  he  reaches  your  side  it  will  no  longer  be  a  bed- 
side, but  a  sof aside;  that  you  '11  be  able  to  smile,  hold 
Dick's  hand,  and  replace  Benger's  Food  with  slices  of 
partridge  and  sips  of  champagne.  By  the  way,  this  is  the 
glorious  Twelfth.  It  does  seem  odd  and  frumpish  not 
to  be  in  Scotland,  but  motoring  covers  a  multitude  of 
social  sins.  Not  a  word  has  been  said  about  birds.  Our 
sporting  talk  is  of  mufflers,  pinions,  water-cooled  brakes, 
and  chainless  drives. 

The  Tyndals  have  turned  up  at  this  hotel,  more  gor- 
geous and  more  bored  than  ever,  but  they  have  taken  a 
fancy  to  Ellaline  Lethbridge,  and  I  am  playing  it  for  all 
it 's  worth.  It  comes  in  handy  at  the  moment,  and  I 
have  no  conscientious  scruples  against  using  millionaires 
for  pawns.  They  have  an  impossibly  luxurious  motor- 
car. Sir  Lionel  thinks  it  vulgar,  but  they  are  pleased  with 
it,  as  it 's  still  a  new  toy.  I  have  been  making  a  nice  little 
plan  for  them,  which  concerns  Ellaline.  None  of  them 
know  it  yet,  but  they  will  soon,  and  if  it  had  been  invented 
to  please  Dick  (which  it  was  n't  entirely)  it  could  n't 
suit  him  better.  You  may  tell  him  that,  if  by  any  chance 
he  's  with  you  still  when  you  get  this. 

My  mind  is  busy  working  the  plan  out,  so  that  there  may 
be  no  hitch,  but  a  few  unoccupied  corners  of  my  brain  are 
wondering  what  you  have  discovered  about  Miss  Leth- 
bridge's  prospects  and  antecedents;  how,  if  both  are  very 
undesirable,  you  intend  to  persuade  Dick  to  let  her  drop. 


246  SET  IN  SILVER 

If  I  were  you  I  would  n't  waste  arguments.  Retain  him  a 
few  days  if  you  can,  though  I  fear  the  only  way  to  do  so  is 
to  have  a  fit.  I  believe  that  can  be  arranged  by  eating 
soap  and  frothing  at  the  mouth,  which  produces  a  striking 
effect,  and,  though  slightly  disagreeable,  is  n't  dangerous. 
But  seriously,  if  he  refuses  to  hear  reason,  don't  worry. 
I  am  on  the  spot  to  snatch  him  at  the  last  moment  from 
the  mouth  of  the  lionness,  provided  she  opens  it  wide 
enough  to  swallow  him. 

Your  ever  useful  and  affectionate  sister, 

GWEN. 

P.  S.  The  Tyndals  have  got  a  cousin  of  George's  with 
them,  a  budding  millionaire  from  Eton,  who  has  fallen  in 
love  at  sight  with  the  Lethbridge.  But  even  Dick  can't 
be  jealous  of  childhood,  and  it  may  be  helpful. 

Taking  everything  together,  I  am  enjoying  myself  here, 
though  I  'm  impatient  to  get  your  letter.  Cornwall  agrees 
with  Sir  Lionel's  disposition,  and  he  is  being  delightful  to 
everyone.  I  think  while  he  is  in  the  right  mood  I  shall 
repeat  to  him  what  a  sad  failure  my  marriage  was,  and 
how  little  I  really  care  for  gaiety;  "Society  my  lover, 
solitude  my  husband,"  sort  of  thing.  He  is  the  kind  of 
man  to  like  that,  and  the  sweet,  soft  air  of  Cornwall  is 
conducive  to  credulity. 


XIX 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

King  Arthur's  Castle,  Tintagel 
August  12th 

MOST  DEAR  AND  SOVRAN  LADY  :  I  call  you  that  because 
I  've  just  been  reading  Sir  Thomas  Malory's  "  Le  Morte 
d'Arthur  "  (is  that  Old  French  spelling  ?),  and  because  the 
style  of  address  seems  suitable  to  King  Arthur's  Castle  — 
which  is  n't  really  his  castle,  you  know,  but  an  hotel. 
I  thought  it  was  the  castle,  though,  when  I  first  saw  it 
standing  up  gray  and  massive  on  an  imposing  hill.  I 
supposed  it  had  been  restored,  and  was  rather  disap- 
pointed to  find  it  an  hotel  —  though  it 's  very  jolly  to  live 
in,  with  all  the  latest  feudal  improvements  and  fittings, 
and  King  Arthur's  Round  Table  in  the  enormous  entrance- 
hall. 

Sir  Lionel  would  n't  let  Mrs.  Senter  laugh  at  me  for 
thinking  it  the  real  castle,  but  said  it  was  a  natural  mistake 
for  a  girl  who  had  spent  all  her  life  in  a  French  school  — 
and  how  should  I  know  the  difference?  I  was  grateful 
to  him,  for  though  I  love  to  have  some  people  laugh  at  me 
she  is  n't  one  of  those  people.  She  laughs  in  that  sniffy 
way  cats  have. 

The  real  castle  I  can  see  from  my  own  feudal,  castellated 
balcony.  It  is  beautifully  ruined ;  but  you  can  go  into  it, 
247 


248  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  I  have  been.  Only  I  want  to  tell  you  about  other 
things  first. 

In  my  short  note  from  Launceston,  did  I  mention  the 
old  Norman  house  which  belongs  to  cousins  of  Sir  Lionel's  ? 
He  used  to  visit  there,  and  poke  about  in  the  castle, 
which  was  Godwin's  and  Harold's  before  the  Conquest. 
But  the  nicest  cousins  are  dead  and  the  rest  are  away,  so 
we  could  only  see  the  outside  of  the  house.  However,  we 
went  to  call  at  an  ancient  stone  cottage  of  the  colour  of 
petrified  wallflowers,  to  see  a  servant  who  took  care  of  Sir 
Lionel  when  he  was  a  child.  A  wonderful  old  wisp  of  a 
thing,  with  the  reputation  of  being  a  witch,  which  wins  her 
great  respect;  and  she  used  quaint  Cornish  words  that 
have  come  down  from  generation  to  generation,  ever  since 
the  early  Celts,  without  changing.  "When  Sir  Lionel 
sympathized  with  her  about  her  husband's  death,  she 
said  it  was  a  grief,  but  he  'd  been  a  sad  invalid,  and  a 
"good  bit  in  the  way  of  the  oven  "  for  several  years. 

On  the  way  to  Tintagel  from  Launceston  we  passed 
Slaughter  Bridge,  one  of  the  many  places  where  legend 
says  King  Arthur  fought  his  last  battle.  So  that  was  a 
good  entrance  to  Arthurian  country,  was  n't  it  ?  Our 
road  cut  huge,  rolling  downs  in  two,  and  they  surged  up 
on  either  side,  so  it  was  rather  like  the  passage  through 
the  Red  Sea.  And  under  a  sky  that  hung  over  us  like  an 
illimitable  bluebell,  we  saw  our  first  Cornish  moun- 
tains, Rough  Tor  and  Brown  Willy.  Names  of  that  sort 
make  you  feel  at  home  with  mountains  at  once,  as  if  you  'd 
known  them  all  your  life,  and  might  lead  them  about  with 
a  string.  But  they  are  only  corruptions  of  old  Celtic 
names  that  nobody  could  possibly  pronounce;  and  nearly 


In  Sir  Lionel's  county,  Cornwall 


SET  IN  SILVER  249 

everything  seems  more  or  less  Celtic  in  Cornwall,  especially 
eyes.  They  are  beautiful  gray-blue,  with  their  black 
lashes  as  long  on  the  lower  as  on  the  upper  lid,  and  look 
as  if  they  had  been  "  rubbed  in  with  a  dirty  finger."  Now 
I  see  that  Sir  Lionel's  eyes  are  Celtic.  I  did  n't  know  quite 
how  to  account  for  them  at  first.  He  has  a  temper,  I 
think,  and  could  be  severe;  but  he  says  the  Cornish  people 
are  so  good-hearted  that  if  you  ask  them  the  way  any- 
where, they  tell  you  the  one  they  think  you  would  prefer 
to  take,  whether  it 's  really  right  or  not.  But  I  'm  glad 
he  is  not  so  easy  going  as  that. 

It  was  exciting  to  wheel  into  a  little  road  like  a  lane, 
marked  "Tintagel"!  I  felt  my  copy  of  "LeMorte 
d' Arthur"  turning  in  my  hand,  like  a  water-diviner's  rod. 
We  took  the  lane  to  avoid  a  tremendous  hill,  because 
hills  give  Mrs.  Norton  the  "  creeps  "  in  her  feet  and  back 
hair,  and  she  never  recovers  until  she  has  had  tea.  But  it 
was  a  charming  lane,  with  views  by  and  by  of  wide,  purple 
moorland,  sunset-red  with  new  heather;  and  the  sky  had 
turned  from  bluebell  azure  to  green  and  rose,  in  a  wonder- 
ful, chameleon  way,  which  it  seems  that  the  sky  has  in 
Cornwall.  I  suppose  it  was  a  Celtic  habit!  All  about 
us  billowed  a  profusion  of  wild  beauty;  and  though  for  a 
long  time  there  was  nothing  alive  in  sight  except  a  flock 
of  bright  pink  sheep,  my  stage-managing  fancy  called  up 
knights  of  the  round  table,  "  pricking  "  o'er  the  downs  on 
their  panoplied  steeds  to  the  rescue  of  fair,  distressed 
damsels.  And  the  bright  mirrors  which  the  fleeting  rain 
had  dropped  along  the  road  were  the  knights'  polished 
shields,  laid  down  to  save  the  ladies  from  wetting  the 
points  of  their  jewelled  slippers. 


250  SET  IN  SILVER 

Then  came  my  first  sight  of  the  Cornish  sea,  deep 
hyacinth,  with  golden  sails  scattered  upon  it,  and  Arthur's 
cliffs  rising  dark  out  of  its  satin  sheen.  Beyond,  in  the 
background,  gray  houses  and  cottages  grouped  together, 
the  stone  and  slates  worn  shiny  with  age,  like  very  old 
marble,  so  that  they  reflected  glints  of  colour  from  the  rose 
and  violet  sky. 

By  the  time  I  was  dressed  for  dinner  it  was  sunset, 
and  I  went  to  sit  on  the  terrace  and  watch  the  splendid 
cloud  pageant.  I  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  of  our  party 
who  had  come  down  yet,  though,  to  tell  the  whole,  whole 
truth,  I  had  had  a  sneaking  idea  Sir  Lionel  would  perhaps 
be  strolling  about  with  a  cigarette,  looking  nice  and 
slim,  and  young,  and  soldierly  in  his  dinner  jacket.  He 
is  nicer  to  look  at  in  that  than  in  almost  anything  else,  I 
think,  as  most  Englishmen  are. 

He  wasn't  there,  however,  so  I  had  to  admire  his 
Cornish  sunset  without  him.  And  I  had  such  fine  thoughts 
about  it,  too !  —  at  least  they  seemed  fine  to  me ;  and  if  I 
were  n't  quite  a  congenial  friend  of  my  own  it  would  have 
seemed  a  waste  of  good  material  to  lavish  them  on  myself 
alone. 

I  saw  through  the  open  door  of  the  sunset,  into  Arthur's 
kingdom,  where  he  still  rules,  you  know,  and  is  lord  of  all. 
The  whole  west  was  a  Field-of-the-Cloth-of-Gold,  and 
across  the  blaze  of  golden  glory  rode  dark  shapes  of  cloud, 
purple  and  crimson,  violet  and  black.  They  were  Arthur's 
knights  tilting  in  tournament,  while  the  Queen  of  Beauty 
and  her  attendant  ladies  looked  on.  Now  and  then,  as 
I  watched,  a  knight  fell,  and  a  horse  tore  away  riderless, 
his  gold-'broidered  trappings  floating  on  the  wind.  When 


SET  IN  SILVER  251 

this  happened,  out  of  the  illumined  sea  would  writhe  a 
glittering  dragon,  or  scaly  heraldic  beast,  to  prance  or  fly 
along  the  horizon  after  the  vanishing  charger  of  the  fallen 
knight.  Sometimes  the  rushing  steed  would  swim  to  a 
fairy  island  or  siren-rock  that  floated  silver-pale  on  the 
shining  water,  or  jutted  dark  out  of  a  creamy  line  of 
breakers;  and  though  I  knew  that  the  knights  and  ladies 
and  wondrous  animals  were  but  inhabitants  of  Sunset 
Kingdom,  Limited,  and  that  the  glimmering  islands  and 
jagged  rocks  would  dissolve  by  and  by  into  cloud-wreaths, 
they  all  looked  as  real  as  the  long  tongue  of  land  beyond 
which  North  Devon  crouched  hiding.  And  the  colour 
flamed  so  fiercely  in  the  sky  that  I  was  half  afraid  the  sun 
must  be  on  fire.  • 

As  I  sat  there  watching  the  last  of  the  knights  ride  away, 
three  people  came  out  of  the  hotel  and  stood  on  the  terrace. 
I  just  gave  them  one  glance,  and  went  back  to  the  sunset, 
but  somehow  I  got  the  feeling  that  they  were  looking  at  me, 
and  talking  about  me. 

Presently  they  began  to  walk  up  and  down,  and  as  they 
passed  in  front  of  my  seat,  they  turned  an  interested  gaze 
upon  me.  All  I  had  known  about  them  until  then  was 
that  they  were  a  trio:  a  man,  a  woman,  and  a  boy,  with 
conventional  backs;  but  as  they  turned,  I  recognized  the 
man  and  the  woman. 

You  would  never  guess  who  they  were,  so  I  '11  tell  you. 
Do  you  remember  the  people  for  whom  you  talked  Italian 
at  Venice  four  years  and  a  half  ago,  the  day  we  arrived, 
and  there  was  a  strike,  and  no  porters  to  carry  anybody's 
luggage  ?  Well,  here  they  were  at  Tintagel !  I  was  perfectly 
certain  of  this  in  an  instant,  and  I  realized  why  they  were 


252  SETINSILVER 

so  interested  in  me.  They  thought  they  had  seen  me 
before,  but  perhaps  were  not  sure. 

Anyway,  they  walked  on,  and  only  the  boy  looked  back. 
He  was  dressed  in  Eton  clothes,  and  was  exactly  like  all 
other  boys,  except  that  he  had  mischievous  eyes  and  a 
bored  mouth  —  almost  as  dangerous  a  combination  in  a 
boy,  I  should  think,  as  a  box  of  matches  and  a  barrel  of 
gunpowder. 

I  thought  that  he  was  probably  their  son,  and  that, 
as  he  had  nothing  better  to  do,  he  was  wondering 
about  me.  I  would  have  given  a  lot  to  know  what 
they  were  saying,  and  whether  Venice  was  in  their 
minds  or  not,  but  I  could  do  nothing  except  hope  they 
might  not  place  me  mentally.  I  would  n't  get  up  and 
go  in,  because  that  would  have  been  too  cowardly;  and 
besides,  if  they  were  staying  in  the  hotel,  I  should 
certainly  run  up  against  them  afterward. 

I  had  just  decided  to  face  it  out,  and  had  put  on  a  for- 
bidding expression,  when  along  came  Sir  Lionel,  so  I  had 
to  take  off  the  expression  and  fold  it  away  for  future 
emergencies.  He  was  smoking  one  of  those  cigarettes 
which  go  so  well  with  sunsets,  and  he  had  seen  the  King 
Arthur  sky-tournament  from  the  other  side  of  the  house. 
He  said  he  had  not  supposed  I  should  be  down  so  soon, 
but  was  hoping  that  I  had  n't  missed  the  show,  wherever 
I  was.  He  threw  away  his  cigarette  —  which  is  one  of  his 
old-fashioned  tricks  if  he  sees  a  woman,  never  even  wait- 
ing to  know  if  she  minds  —  and  asked  if  he  might  sit  on 
the  seat  by  me.  That  was  old-fashioned,  too,  was  n't  it  ? 
The  Dick  Burdens  of  the  world  plump  themselves  down 
by  girls  without  worrying  to  get  permission.  They  think 


SETINSILVER  253 

female  things  will  be  too  flattered  for  words,  by  a  con- 
descending male  desire  to  be  near  them. 

I  told  you  how  nice  Sir  Lionel  looks  in  evening  clothes, 
did  n't  I  ?  You  've  no  idea  what  a  perfect  shape  his 
head  is;  and  a  large  lake  of  white  shirt  under  a  little  black 
silk  bow  is  particularly  becoming  to  a  clean-shaven  man 
with  a  very  tanned  skin  —  though  I  don't  know  why. 
One  would  think  it  might  have  the  opposite  effect.  And 
Sir  Lionel  does  tie  his  necktie  so  nicely,  with  a  kind  of 
careless  precision  which  comes  right  of  itself,  like  every- 
thing he  does.  (You  will  think  all  this  is  silly,  and  it 
is;  but  I  keep  noticing  things  about  him,  and  liking  them, 
so  I  tell  you,  because  I  may  have  prejudiced  you  against 
him  at  first,  as  Ellaline  prejudiced  me.) 

We  were  beginning  to  have  a  good  talk  about  Cornwall, 
and  quaint  Cornish  ways  and  superstitions,  when  out  of 
the  house  came  Mrs.  Senter.  The  Venice  people  had 
just  passed  again,  and  were  near  the  hotel  door  as  she 
appeared. 

"Why,  Sallie  and  George!"  she  exclaimed. 

And  "  Why,  Gwen !"  the  Venice  lady  answered. 

They  shook  hands,  the  boy  and  all,  and  though  Sir 
Lionel  did  n't  pay  much  attention  to  what  was  going  on, 
I  could  n't  keep  up  our  conversation.  "Suppose  they  tell 
Mrs.  Senter  they  met  me  in  Venice!"  I  said  to  myself. 
"Whats/tatf  Ido?" 

Out  of  one  corner  of  my  eye  I  saw  that  they  did  speak  of 
me,  and  she  threw  a  quick,  eager  glance  in  my  direction. 
A  minute  or  two  later  they  all  strolled  on  together,  until 
they  had  come  in  front  of  our  seat.  There  Mrs.  Senter 
paused,  and  said,  "Sir  Lionel,  these  are  my  friends,  Mr. 


254  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  Mrs.  Tyndal,  of  whom  I  think  I  must  have  spoken  to 
you,  and  this  is  their  cousin,  Mr.  Tom  Tyndal.  They  are 
touring  in  their  motor,  and  arrived  here  this  afternoon,  a 
little  before  us.  Quite  a  coincidence,  is  n't  it  ?"  And 
then,  as  if  on  second  thoughts,  she  added  me  to  the 
introduction. 

"Quite  a  coincidence/'  indeed!  It  never  rains,  but  it 
pours  coincidences,  on  any  head  that  is  developing  a 
criminal  record. 

The  Tyndals  paid  Sir  Lionel  compliments,  and  seemed 
to  be  delighted  to  meet  him,  evidently  regarding  him  as  a 
great  celebrity,  which,  I  suppose,  he  really  is.  Then, 
when  they  had  made  him  sufficiently  uncomfortable 
(compliments  are  to  him  what  a  sudden  plague  of  locusts 
would  be  to  most  men),  they  turned  to  me. 

"Surely  we  have  met  before,  Miss  Lethbridge?" 
remarked  Mrs.  Tyndal.  And  you  ought  to  have  seen 
how  Mrs.  Senter's  features  sharpened,  as  she  waited  for 
me  to  stammer  or  blush. 

As  far  as  the  blush  was  concerned,  she  had  her 
money's  worth;  and  I  only  did  n't  stammer  because  I 
was  obliged  to  stop  and  think  before  replying.  I 
almost  worshipped  Sir  Lionel  when  he  answered  for 
me,  in  a  quick,  positive  way  he  has,  which  there  seems 
no  gainsaying.  I  suppose  men  who  live  in  the  East 
cultivate  that,  as  it  keeps  natives  from  arguing  and 
answering  back. 

"Impossible,"  said  he,  "unless  it  was  at  Versailles, 
where  my  ward  has  been  at  school  since  she  was  a  very 
small  child,  with  no  holidays  except  at  St.  Cloud." 

"Might  n't  it  have  been  at  Paris  ?"  obligingly  suggested 


SETINSILVER  255 

Mrs.  Senter,  determined  I  should  n't  be  let  off,  if  con- 
viction of  any  sort  were  possible. 

"No,  I  don't  think  it  was  at  Paris,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Tyndal,  reflectively,  eyeing  me  in  the  sunset  light,  which 
was  turning  to  pure  amethyst.  "Now,  where  could  it 
have  been  ?  I  seem  to  associate  your  face  with  —  with 
Italy." 

Oh,  my  goodness!  She  was  getting  "warm"  in  our 
game  of  "hide  the  handkerchief." 

"She  has  never  been  to  Italy,"  said  Sir  Lionel,  begin- 
ning to  look  rather  cross,  as  if  Mrs.  Tyndal  were  taking 
liberties  with  his  belongings  —  of  which,  you  see,  he 
thinks  me  one. 

"Not  even  —  Venice?"  she  persisted.  "Oh,  yes, 
that  is  it!  Now  I  know  where  I  seem  to  have  seen  you  — • 
at  Venice.  You  remember,  don't  you,  George  ?" 

By  this  time  sparks  had  lighted  up  in  Sir  Lionel's  eyes, 
as  if  he  were  a  Turk,  and  one  of  the  ladies  of  his  harem 
were  unjustly  suspected. 

"It  is  impossible  for  Mr.  Tyndal  to  remember  what 
did  n't  happen,"  he  said,  dropping  a  lump  of  ice  into  his 
voice.  "You  saw  someone  who  looked  like  her  in  Venice, 
perhaps,  but  not  my  ward." 

I  was  almost  sorry  for  the  poor  Tyndals,  who  meant 
no  harm,  though  they  had  the  air  of  being  so  fright- 
fully rich  and  prosperous  that  it  seemed  ridiculous  to 
pity  them. 

"Of  course,  it  could  only  have  been  a  resemblance," 
said  Mr.  Tyndal,  with  that  snubby  glare  at  Mrs.  Tyndal 
which  husbands  and  wives  keep  for  each  other. 

"It  must  have  been,"  she  responded,  taking  up  her 


256  SET  IN  SILVER 

cue;  for  naturally  they  did  n't  want  to  begin  their  acquain- 
tance with  a  distinguished  person  by  offending  him. 

These  signs  of  docility  caused  Sir  Lionel  to  relent  and 
come  down  off  his  high  horse.  Whenever  he  has  been  at 
all  haughty  or  impatient  with  his  sister  (whose  denseness 
would  sometimes  try  a  saint)  he  is  sorry  in  a  minute,  and 
tries  to  be  extra  nice.  It  was  the  same  now  in  the  case  of 
the  poor  Tyndals,  whose  Etonian  cousin  had  all  the  time 
been  gazing  up  at  him  with  awed  adoration,  as  of  a  hero 
on  a  pedestal ;  and  suddenly  a  quaint  thought  struck  me. 
I  remembered  about  the  Bengalese  Sir  Lionel  was  sup- 
posed to  have  executed  for  some  offence  or  other,  and  I 
could  see  him  being  sorry  immediately  afterward,  tearing 
around  trying  to  stick  their  heads  on  again,  and  saying 
pleasant  words. 

Well,  he  stuck  the  Tyndals'  heads  on  very  kindly,  so 
that  they  almost  forgot  they  'd  ever  been  slashed  off;  and 
when  Mrs.  Norton  came  out,  which  she  did  in  a  few  min- 
utes, looking  as  if  she  'd  washed  the  dust  off  her  face  with 
kitchen  soap,  we  all  strolled  up  and  down  together,  till  it 
was  time  for  dinner. 

Mrs.  Tyndal  walked  with  me,  but  not  a  word  did  she 
say  about  Venice.  That  subject  was  to  be  tabooed,  but 
I  'm  far  from  sure  she  was  convinced  of  her  mistake,  and 
she  could  n't  overcome  her  intense  interest  in  my  features. 
However,  she  seems  good-natured,  as  if  even  to  please  Mrs. 
Senter  she  would  n't  care  to  do  me  a  bad  turn.  Only,  I 
don't  think  people  do  things  from  motives  as  a  rule,  do  you  ? 
They  just  suddenly  find  they  want  to  do  them,  and  presto, 
the  things  are  done !  That 's  why  the  world  's  so  exciting. 

We   chatted   non-committally  of  cabbages  and   kings 


SET  IN  SILVER  257 

and  automobiles;  and  I  recalled  tracing  pneu-tracks 
like  illusive  lights  and  shadows  before  us  on  the  damp  road, 
as  we  spun  into  Tintagel.  No  doubt  they  were  the  pneus 
of  the  Tyndals. 

Their  table  was  next  ours  in  the  dining  room,  so  close 
that  motor-chat  was  tossed  back  and  forth,  and  it 
appeared  that  Mr.  Tyndal  was  as  proud  of  his  car  as  a  cat 
of  its  mouse.  Mrs.  Tyndal's  mice  are  her  jewels,  and  she 
has  droves  of  them,  which  she  displayed  at  dinner.  After- 
ward she  did  lace-work,  which  made  her  rings  gleam 
beautifully,  and  she  said  she  did  n't  particularly  like  doing 
it,  but  it  was  something  to  "kill  time."  How  awful! 
But  I  suppose  frightfully  rich  people  are  like  that. 
They  sometimes  get  fatty  degeneration  of  the  soul. 

Well,  nothing  more  happened  that  evening,  except  that 
the  Tyndal  boy  and  I  made  great  friends  —  quite  a  nice 
boy,  pining  for  some  mischief  that  idle  hands  might  do; 
and  his  cousins  said  that,  as  we  were  going  to  stop 
several  days  at  Tintagel,  "making  it  a  centre,"  they 
would  stop,  too.  Sir  Lionel  did  n't  appear  overjoyed  at  the 
decision,  but  Mrs.  Senter  seemed  glad.  She  and  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Burden,  have  known  the  Tyndals  for  years,  and  are 
by  way  of  being  friends,  yet  she  works  off  her  little  fire- 
work epigrams  against  them  when  their  backs  are  turned, 
o,s  she  does  on  everybody.  According  to  her,  their  princi- 
pal charm  for  society  :n  London  is  their  cook;  and  she 
says  the  art  treasures  in  their  house  are  all  illegitimate; 
near-Gobelin,  not-quite-Raphaels,  and  so  on  She  makes 
Sir  Lionel  smile;  but  I  wonder  i?  she  'd  adopt  this 
cheap  method  if  he  'd  ever  mentioned  to  her  (as  he  has  to 
me)  that  of  all  meannesses  he  despises  disloyalty  ? 


258  SET  IN   SILVER 

The  Tyndal  boy  went  up  to  bed  before  the  rest  of  us, 
and  when  Sir  Lionel  and  Mrs.  Norton  had  been  forced  to 
play  bridge  with  Mrs.  Senter^and  Mr.  Tyndal,  I  slipped 
away,  too. 

We  'd  lived  in  the  hotel  such  a  short  time,  and  it 's  so 
big,  that  I  counted  on  recognizing  my  room  by  the  boots 
which  I  put  outside  the  door  when  I  went  down  to  sun- 
set and  dinner.  Of  course,  I  'd  forgotten  my  number,  as 
I  always  do.  I  would  n't  consider  myself  a  normal  girl 
if  I  did  n't. 

There  were  the  boots,  not  taken  away  yet  —  looking 
abject,  as  boots  do  in  such  situations  —  but  I  was  pleased 
to  see  that  they  compared  favourably  in  size  with  the  gray 
alligator-skin  and  patent  leather  eccentricities  of  Mrs. 
Senter,  reposing  on  an  adjacent  doormat.  With  this 
frivolous  reflection  in  my  mind,  it  did  n't  occur  to  me,  as 
I  turned  the  handle  of  the  door  marked  by  my  brown 
footgear,  that  the  room  now  appeared  farther  to  the  left, 
along  the  passage,  than  I  had  the  impression  of  its  being. 
I  opened  the  door,  which  was  not  locked,  walked  in,  felt 
about  for  the  electric  light,  switched  it  on,  and  had 
sauntered  over  to  a  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  before 
I  noticed  anything  strange.  Then,  to  my  startled  vision 
appeared  unfamiliar  brushes  and  combs  on  a  chest  of 
drawers;  beautiful,  but  manly  looking  silver-backed  ones; 
and  along  the  wall  was  a  row  of  flat  tweed  legs,  on 
stretchers. 

For  an  instant  I  stood  still,  bewildered,  as  if  I  'd  walked 
into  a  dream,  beguiled  by  a  false  clue  of  boots;  and  during 
my  few  seconds  of  temporary  aberration  my  dazed  eyes 
fell  upon  a  book  which  lay  on  the  table.  It  was  Sir 


SET    IN  SILVER  259 

Lionel's  "Morte  <T  Arthur  "  (second  volume;  he 's  lent  me 
the  first),  and  in  it  for  a  marker  was  a  glove  of  mine.  I  'd 
lost  it  at  Torquay,  after  we  had  our  dear,  good  talk,  and 
he  knew  I  was  looking  for  it,  all  about  the  sitting  room 
we  had  at  the  hotel  there,  yet  he  never  said  a  word. 

Oh,  dear  little  French  mother,  you  can't  think  what  an 
odd  feeling  it  gave  me  to  see  he  had  kept  my  glove,  and 
had  put  it  in  his  book !  Yes,  I  believe  you  can  think,  too, 
because  probably  you  've  felt  just  like  that  yourself  when 
you  were  a  girl,  only  you  never  thought  it  convenable  to 
describe  your  symptoms  for  your  daughter's  benefit.  I 
know  it  was  perfectly  schoolgirlish  of  me,  and  I  ought  to 
have  outgrown  such  sentimentality  with  my  teens;  but  if 
you  could  see  Sir  Lionel,  and  understand  the  sort  of  man 
he  is,  you  would  n't  think  me  so  outrageous.  That  he  —  he, 
of  all  men  —  should  care  to  keep  anything  which  would 
remind  him  of  an  insignificant  child  like  me !  I  'm  afraid 
there  came  a  prickly  feeling  in  my  eyelids,  and  I  had  the 
most  idiotic  desire  to  kiss  the  book,  which  I  knew  would 
have  a  nice  smell  of  his  cigarettes,  because  my  borrowed 
volume  has.  Of  course,  I  would  n't  have  done  it  for  any- 
thing, though,  so  don't  think  I  'm  worse  than  I  am.  And 
really,  really,  I  don't  believe  I  'm  exactly  in  love.  I  hope 
I  'm  not  so  foolish.  It 's  just  a  kind  of  infatuated  fas- 
cination of  a  moth  —  not  for  a  candle,  but  for  a  great, 
brilliant  motor  lamp.  I  've  seen  them  at  night  dashing 
themselves  against  the  glass  of  our  Bleriots  once  or  twice 
when  we  've  been  out  late,  and  I  know  how  hopelessly 
they  smash  their  soft,  silly  wings.  I  should  have  been 
like  them  if  I  'd  kissed  the  book;  but  instead,  after  that 
one  look  which  told  me  the  glove  really  was  my  glove,  I 


260  SET  IN  SILVER 

bounced  out  of  the  room,  snatching  my  boots  up  as  I 
dashed  across  the  threshold. 

Bump!  as  I  did  so  I  almost  telescoped  with  Sir  Lionel 
who  had  retrieved  his  boots,  probably  from  my  doormat. 
And  at  the  same  moment  came  a  boyish  yelp  from  some- 
where, followed  by  the  smart  slap  of  a  door  shutting.  I 
wished  it  had  been  a  smart  slap  of  my  hand  on  the  Tyndal 
boy's  ear,  for  of  course  the  boot-changing  was  that  little 
fiend's  work,  I  guessed  in  a  second. 

So  did  Sir  Lionel,  and  we  both  laughed  —  at  ourselves, 
at  each  other,  and  everything.  It  seems  that  the  Youthful 
Horror  had  changed  every  pair  of  boots  along  the  corridor, 
and  made  the  most  weird  combinations.  I  don't  suppose 
Sir  Lionel  thought  about  the  glove  in  the  book,  anyway 
at  the  time,  and  luckily  there  was  nothing  tell-tale  in  my 
room,  in  case  he  strayed  in,  except  your  photograph  in  the 
silver  frame  you  gave  me  on  my  last  birthday.  And  of 
course  he  could  make  nothing  of  that. 

He  had  got  out  of  playing  bridge,  because  when  Mrs. 
Tyndal  saw  he  was  n't  keen,  she  offered  to  take  a  hand, 
and  he  said  he  did  want  to  write  to  a  man  in  Bengal, 
his  best  friend. 

We  talked  to  each  other  only  a  few  minutes,  after  the 
boot-puzzle  had  been  put  right;  but  would  you  believe  it, 
up  came  Mrs.  Senter,  while  Sir  Lionel  and  I  were  bidding 
each  other  good  night  in  front  of  my  door  ?  She  looked  as 
stiff  and  wicked  as  a  frozen  snake  for  an  instant;  then  she 
smiled  too  sweetly,  and  said  she  'd  come  for  her  Spanish 
lace  mantilla.  But  I  almost  know  she  had  fancied  that  Sir 
Lionel  might  have  made  an  excuse  to  get  a  word  with  me, 
and  had  flown  up  to  find  out  for  herself. 


SET  IN  SILVER  261 

You  can  imagine,  dear,  that  I  did  n't  feel  much  like 
going  to  bed  when  I  'd  finished  saying  good-night,  and  shut 
my  door  upon  the  world.  It  seemed  to  me  that  this  birth- 
place of  Sir  Lionel's  ancestor,  King  Arthur  Pendragon,  was 
too  romantic  and  wonderful  to  go  tamely  to  sleep  in.  And 
what  was  my  covered  balcony  for,  if  not  to  dream  dreams 
and  think  thoughts,  by  moonlight  ? 

So  I  switched  off  the  electricity  in  my  room,  and  went  out 
to  find  that  the  moon  (which  is  big  and  grand  now)  had 
come  out,  too,  tearing  apart  a  great  black  cloud  in  order  to 
look  down  on  Arthur-land,  and  see  if  she  had  any  adorers. 
Anyway,  she  must  have  seen  me,  for  she  turned  the  night 
into  silver  dawn,  so  clear  and  bright  that  she  could  n't  have 
missed  me  if  she  tried. 

I  did  wish  for  you  to  be  with  me  then,  and  I  'm  ashamed 
to  confess  I  would  n't  have  minded  Sir  Lionel  as  a  compan- 
ion, because  Tintagel  seems  so  much  more  his  than  mine. 

Never  did  I  hear  the  sea  talk  poetry  and  legend  as  it 
does  round  those  dark  rocks  of  old  "Dundagel."  I 
thought  as  I  leaned  out  from  my  balcony,  a  lonely, 
unappreciated  Juliet  —  that  the  sound  was  like  the  chant- 
ing voice  of  an  ancient  bard,  telling  stories  of  the  golden 
days  to  himself  or  to  all  who  might  care  to  listen.  I 
fancied  I  could  hear  the  words: 

They  found  a  naked  child  upon  the  sands 
Of  dark  Dundagel  by  the  Cornish  sea. 

I  could  see  the  ruined  castle,  on  its  twin  cliffs,  below 
the  hotel-castle  cliff  and  between  me  and  the  sea;  and 
the  very  meagreness  of  what  remains  seemed  to  increase 
the  interest  and  mystery  by  stimulating  the  imagination, 
forcing  it  to  create  its  own  pictures.  I  "reconstructed" 


262  SET  IN  SILVER 

the  castle,  building  it  of  the  same  stone  they  use  now  at 
Tintagel,  and  have  used  for  the  last  thousand  years  or  so : 
a  dark  stone,  singularly  rich  with  colour  —  pansy  and 
wallflower  colour,  with  splashes  of  green  flung  on  to  dead 
gray,  like  bright  autumn  leaves  stirred  into  a  heap  of  other 
leaves  dim  and  dead.  And  the  mortar  for  my  masonry 
was  the  moonlight  which  flooded  the  sea  and  those  wide 
downs  whose  divisions  into  fields  turned  them  into  enor- 
mous maps. 

I  worked  myself  up  into  such  a  romantic  mood  that  I 
almost  cried  in  the  joy  and  pain  of  living,  and  expected  to 
look  back  upon  myself  with  the  "utmost  spurn"  when  I 
should  come  back  to  real  life  after  a  good  sleep  in  the 
morning.  But  I  did  n't,  —  perhaps  because,  instead  of 
encouraging  the  good  sleep,  I  lay  and  listened  to  the  wild 
song  of  the  Cornish  wind. 

I  waked  early,  feeling  exactly  the  same,  if  not  more 
so,  and  could  hardly  wait  to  get  down  into  the  ruins  of  the 
old  castle.  I  splashed  about  in  a  cold  bath,  dressed  as 
quickly  as  a  well-groomed  girl  can,  and  then  —  I  com- 
mitted what  might  seem  an  indiscreet  act  if  the  last  of  the 
Pendragons  and  I  did  not  stand  toward  each  other  in  the 
place  of  guardian  and  ward.  "Nothing  is,  but  thinking 
makes  it  so."  And  Sir  Lionel  certainly  does  think  we  're 
in  those  positions ;  therefore  it  was  all  right  for  me  to  knock 
at  his  door,  and  ask  through  the  keyhole  if  he  would 
very,  very  much  mind  taking  me  to  the  castle  ? 

He  was  dressed,  and  opened  the  door  instantly.  It 
was  the  one  thing  he  would  have  liked  to  propose,  said 
he,  only  he  had  been  afraid  of  disturbing  me  so  early. 
Was  n't  that  kind  of  him  ?  I  remembered  the  glove,  and 


SET  IN  SILVER  263 

the  thought  of  it  was  more  delicious  than  a  breakfast  of 
Cornish  cream  and  honey;  although,  of  course,  larking 
in  the  background  of  my  mind  was  the  horrid  idea  that; 
he  might  have  accidentally  picked  the  thing  up  to  use  as 
a  bookmark.  And  another  idea,  gloomier  even,  though 
not  so  horrid,  was  that,  even  if  he  does  like  me  well  enough 
to  keep  things  of  mine,  he  must  soon  grow  to  hate  me 
when  he  knows  who  I  am. 

He  suggested  coffee,  but  I  would  n't  have  it,  because  I 
was  afraid  Mrs.  Senter  might  appear  and  want  to  go  to 
the  castle  too.  I  had  visions  of  her,  hearing  our  voices 
in  the  corridor,  and  dashing  out  of  bed  to  fling  on  her 
clothes;  but  even  if  she  did  overhear  the  whole  conversa- 
tion, I  don't  think  she  's  the  kind  who  looks  her  best  before 
breakfast,  if  she  has  dressed  in  a  hurry;  and  anyway,  we 
were  spared  the  apparition. 

It  was  a  fine  scramble  getting  to  the  ruins,  and  when  Sir 
Lionel  had  opened  a  door  (with  a  key  you  get  from  a 
cottage  close  by  the  sea)  it  was  quite  as  if  he  were  my  host, 
entertaining  me  in  his  ancestral  home.  I  told  him  that 
it  felt  twice  as  interesting  to  be  there  with  a  true  Pendragon, 
than  with  a  mere  king  or  anybody  like  that,  and  he  seemed 
pleased. 

"I  hope  I  am  a  'true'  Pendragon,"  he  said,  rather 
thoughtfully.  "One  must  try  to  be  —  always."  He 
looked  at  me  very,  very  kindly,  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to 
say  something  more;  but  he  did  n't  speak,  and  turned  away 
his  eyes  to  look  far  over  the  sea.  It  was  only  for  a  little 
while,  though,  that  he  was  absent-minded.  Sitting  there 
on  the  rough,  wind-blown  grass  which  is  the  floor  of  the 
castle  now,  he  told  me  things  about  the  place  and  its  history. 


264  SET  IN  SILVER 

How  Dundagel  meant  the  "Safe  Castle,"  and  how  the 
"Arthurian  believers"  say  it  was  built  by  the  Britons  in 
earliest  Roman  days;  how  David  Bruce  of  Wales  was 
entertained  by  the  Earl  of  Cornwall  on  the  very  spot  where 
we  were  sitting,  and  how  the  great  hall,  once  famous,  was 
destroyed  as  long  ago  as  when  Chaucer  was  a  baby.  And 
as  he  talked,  the  rising  wind  wailed  and  sobbed  like  old,  old 
witches  crying  over  the  evil  fallen  on  Arthur  and  his  castle. 
Such  an  old,  wise-sounding  wind  it  was,  old  enough  to  have 
been  blowing  when  Arthur  was  a  baby,  drowning  the  lulla- 
bies sung  by  his  mother  Igerna,  "that  greatest  beauty 
in  Britain." 

We  forgot  breakfast,  and  stopped  in  the  ruins  a  long 
time,  until  suddenly  we  both  realized  that  we  were 
desperately  hungry.  But  instead  of  going  up  to  our  own 
hotel,  we  walked  into  the  quaint  village  (whose  real  name 
is  Trevena,  though  nobody  calls  it  that)  and  had  something 
to  eat  at  a  hotel  where  Sir  Lionel  used  to  stop  occasionally 
when  he  was  a  boy.  Afterward,  we  went  to  see  the  village 
schoolmaster,  whom  he  knew;  such  a  nice  man,  who  paints 
pictures  as  well  as  teaches  the  children  —  and  I  felt  guilty 
at  being  introduced  as  Sir  Lionel's  "ward."  I  think  my 
conscience  is  like  a  bruised  peach,  pinched  by  many 
fingers  to  see  if  it 's  ripe,  I  have  that  guilty  feeling  so  often ! 
When  we  spoke  of  the  schoolmaster's  versatility,  he 
laughed  and  said  it  was  "nothing  to  his  predecessor's," 
who  used  to  cut  the  children's  hair,  clip  horses,  measure 
land,  act  as  parish  clerk  as  well  as  teacher,  pull  teeth,  and 
beat  such  transgressors  as  had  to  be  punished  in  a  way 
less  serious  than  prison.  Does  n't  that  take  one  back  to 
long  ago  ?  But  so  does  everything  in  Tintagel  —  and  all 


SET  IN  SILVER  265 

over  Cornwall,  Sir  Lionel  says.  They  have  such  nice  old- 
fashioned  words  here!  Is  n't  "jingle"  good?  It 's  some 
kind  of  a  conveyance,  exactly  the  opposite  of  a  motor-car, 
I  fancy,  from  the  description.  And  I  like  the  word  "huer," 
too.  It  means  a  man  who  gives  the  hue  and  cry  when  the 
pilchards  are  coming  in,  and  all  the  fishermen  must  run 
to  the  sea. 

I  should  like  to  know  everything  about  Cornwall,  from 
the  smugglers,  and  the  famous  wrestlers,  to  the  witches  — 
the  last  of  whom  lives  near  Boscastle  still.  But  the  little 
that  travellers  in  motors  can  learn  about  places  steeped  in 
history,  is  like  trying  to  know  all  about  a  beautiful  great 
tree  by  one  leaf  of  flying  gold  which  falls  into  the  auto- 
mobile as  it  sweeps  by,  along  the  road.  Still,  the  little  one 
does  learn  is  unforgettable,  impressed  upon  the  mind  in  a 
different  way  from  the  mere  learning.  And  I  suppose  few 
people  know  everything  about  every  place,  even  in  their 
own  countries.  If  they  did,  I  'm  sure  they  'd  be  prigs,  and 
no  one  would  want  to  know  them! 

When  we  got  back  to  our  hotel  castle  on  the  cliff,  the 
Tyndals'  motor  was  at  the  door,  a  huge,  gorgeous  chariot, 
and  nothing  would  do  but  we  must  "try  the  car."  Mrs. 
Senter  had  promised  to  go,  and  was  putting  on  her  hat. 

The  Tyndals  are  difficult  people  to  resist,  because  if  you 
try  to  make  excuses  they  pin  you  down  in  one  way  or 
another,  so  that  you  must  either  do  what  they  want  or  hurt 
their  feelings;  and  though  Sir  Lionel  is  supposed  to  have 
been  so  strict  in  Bengal,  he  is  quite  soft-hearted  in  England. 
I  think  he  hates  going  about  in  motors  that  are  n't  his, 
because  he  enjoys  being  the  man  at  the  helm,  which  is 
perhaps  characteristic  of  him;  however,  the  Tyndals 


266  SET  IN  SILVER 

swept  all  of  us,  except  Mrs.  Norton,  away  to  Delabole  to 
see  the  slate  quarries,  and  to  have  the  adventure  of  sliding 
down  a  fearfully  steep  incline  in  a  tiny  trolley-car  —  if 
that 's  the  right  word  for  it.  I  half  expected  Charon  to 
meet  me  with  his  ferry-boat  at  the  bottom.  It  would  n't 
have  seemed  much  stranger  than  other  things  in 
Cornwall. 

All  that  happened  yesterday.  To-day  we  have  been  to 
Trebarwith  Strand  and  Port  Isaac,  and  have  walked  to  the 
loneliest  church  I  ever  saw,  with  the  gravestones  in  the 
burying  ground  propped  by  buttresses,  that  the  wind 
may  n't  throw  them  down.  It  is  Tintagel  church,  though 
it 's  a  good  long  way  from  the  village,  and  the  vicarage  is 
of  the  fourteenth  century. 

Oh,  and  I  heard  a  splendid  legend  about  the  ruined 
castle  from  the  vicar,  who  is  its  warden !  It  seems,  when 
it  was  built  by  the  old  princes  of  West  Wales  —  very 
beautiful  as  well  as  strong,  with  walls  "painted  of  many 
colours,"  it  was  placed  under  a  powerful  spell  by  Merlin, 
that  it  might  become  invisible  twice  in'  every  year.  How 
I  should  like  to  be  at  Tintagel  at  the  right  time,  and  see  if 
the  ruins  would  disappear  from  before  my  eyes.  I  believe 
they  would;  and  the  enchantment  would  take  the  form  of 
a  sea  mist. 

To-morrow  we  are  to  leave  Cornwall  for  Bideford. 

I  had  got  as  far  as  that,  when  Mrs.  Senter  knocked  at 
my  door,  and  asked  if  she  might  come  in  for  a  few  minutes; 
so  I  had  to  say  yes,  and  "smile  full  well  in  counterfeited 
glee."  But  I  hated  to  be  interrupted,  as  there  was  just 
time  before  dressing  for  dinner  to  finish  my  letter  to  you. 


SET  IN  SILVER  267 

Now  it  is  after  dinner,  and  before  I  go  to  bed,  I  '11  tell  you 
what  has  happened. 

How  conceited  I  was  to  suppose  it  possible  that  Sir 
Lionel  thought  me  an  important  person!  I  am  sure  the 
glove  episode  must  have  been  a  mere  accident.  Serves  me 
right! 

Mrs.  Senter  came  to  tell  me  that  they  'd  all  been  talking 
about  the  way  to  Bideford,  and  Sir  Lionel  said  the  road 
was  so  hilly,  he  wished  we  had  n't  quite  as  many 
passengers  in  the  car.  Then  the  Tyndals  asked  if 
they  might  take  me,  because  they  'd  made  up  their  minds 
to  go  to  Bideford  too,  and  Sir  Lionel  answered  that  it 
would  be  a  splendid  way  out  of  the  difficulty  if  I  were 
willing.  The  only  trouble  was,  he  did  n't  like  to  propose 
such  a  thing  for  fear  of  hurting  my  feelings;  and  the 
conversation  ended,  according  to  Mrs.  Senter,  by  the  Tyn- 
dals planning  to  suggest  the  idea  to  me  as  if  it  were  their 
own,  then  letting  the  matter  rest  on  my  decision. 

Mrs.  Senter  went  on  to  explain  that  Sir  Lionel  did  n't 
know  she  was  repeating  to  me  what  had  passed,  but  that 
she  thought  I  would  prefer  to  know.  "I  'm  sure  /  should 
if  I  were  in  your  place,"  she  purred  sweetly.  "When  the 
Tyndals  invite  you,  of  course  you  must  do  exactly  as  you 
please;  but  don't  you  think  for  Mrs.  Norton's  sake,  as 
she  's  such  a  coward,  it  would  be  best  to  keep  the  car  as 
light  as  possible,  since  Sir  Lionel  fears  the  roads  are  really 
bad?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  said  I,  trying  so  hard  not  to  blush 
that  I  must  have  been  purple.  "I  shall  be  delighted  to  go 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyndal,  in  their  lovely  car,  and  it 's 
very  nice  of  them  to  ask  me." 


268  SET  IN  SILVER 

"You  won't  tell  Sir  Lionel  I  interfered,  will  you?'*  she 
begged.  "I  should  be  quite  afraid  of  him  if  he  were 
angry." 

"You  need  n't  worry.  He  shan't  hear  anything  from 
me,"  said  I. 

"And  you  do  think  I  was  right  to  let  you  know?"  she 
implored. 

"Of  course,"  I  assured  her.  But  I  was  feeling  hurt  all 
the  way  up  to  my  topmost  hair  and  down  to  my  tipmost 
toe.  Not  that  I  mind  going  with  the  Tyndals,  but  that 
Sir  Lionel  should  pick  me  out  as  the  bit  of  superfluous 
ballast  to  cast  to  the  winds!  That  was  what  made  me 
feel  cold  and  old,  and  alone  in  the  world.  I  conscien- 
tiously told  myself  that  I  was  the  youngest  of  the  party, 
and  the  right  one  to  sacrifice;  but  nothing  was  much 
comfort  until  the  thought  jumped  into  my  head  that 
maybe  Mrs.  Senter  had  fibbed.  I  went  to  dinner  buoyed 
up  by  that  hope,  but  it  died  young;  for  the  Tyndals 
did  invite  me,  in  Sir  Lionel's  hearing;  and  when  I  said  that 
I  should  be  charmed  —  he  smiled  calmly.  So  far  from 
making  objections,  I  thought  he  looked  quite  pleased. 

Poor  me!  I  fancied  in  the  castle  ruins  that  he  actually 
liked  my  society.     But  I  forgot  that  I  'd  invited  him  to 
go  with  me.     /  shan't  forget  again.     And  hang  the  glove ! 
Your  poor,  foolish,  conceited,  humiliated 

AUDBIE. 


XX 

TELEGRAM  FROM  DICK  BURDEN  TO  HIS  AUNT 

Glen  Lachlan,  August  13th 

8  o'clock  A.M. 

SENTER,  KING  ARTHUR'S  CASTLE,  TINTAGEL,  CORNWALL: 

Returning  to-day.  Hope  find  you  still  at  Tintagel. 
Try  and  make  Pendragon  stay  if  he  plans  to  leave.  Find 
some  excuse. 


XXI 

TELEGRAM  FROM  MRS.  SENTER  TO  HER  NEPHEW 

Tintagel,  August  I3th,  9.20  A.M. 
R.  BURDEN,  GLEN  LACHLAN,  N.  B. 

Just  starting  for  Bideford.  Can  make  no  excuse  to 
delay,  but  have  done  better.  If  you  arrive  Tintagel 
to-night  will  find  member  of  party  most  important  to 
you  still  there.  Better  hurry.  Will  leave  letter  explain- 
ing all. 

SENTER. 


270 


XXII 

LETTER  LEFT   BY    MRS.    SENTER   AT  KING 

ARTHUR'S   CASTLE   HOTEL,    FOR  HER 

NEPHEW,  DICK  BURDEN 

August  13th 

DEAR  DICK:  Your  wire  has  just  come  as  we  are  start- 
ing. I  've  telegraphed,  and  will  leave  a  few  words  for 
you  in  pencil.  Lucky  you  have  a  resourceful  relative, 
and  that  Mrs.  Norton's  washing  did  n't  come  till  late 
this  morning!  My  resourcefulness  enables  me  to  change 
my  plans  for  your  benefit,  or  rather,  to  make  them  work 
together  for  your  good,  in  the  time  most  women  take  to 
change  their  minds;  while  the  lateness  of  Mrs.  N.'s  wash- 
ing and  her  mild  obstinacy  in  determining  to  wait  for  it, 
against  her  brother's  wishes,  provide  us  with  a  few  extra 
minutes. 

Now  it  suddenly  appears  that  Young  Nick  has  n't 
enough  petrol  to  get  on  as  far  as  —  anywhere.  That 
will  give  us  more  minutes.  Brown  Buddha,  as  your 
adored  one  calls  him,  has  crawled  humbly  but  swiftly  off 
to  obtain  a  new  supply.  Sir  Lionel,  already  in  a  vile 
temper  for  reasons  which  I  may  have  time  to  explain,  is 
bursting  with  rage  to  which  he  is  too  proud  to  give  a 
natural  outlet.  He  looks  ready  to  explode,  not  with 
bombs,  but  with  dambs.  I  have  never  heard  him  say 
271 


272  SET  IN  SILVER 

a  single  one,  during  the  whole  of  our  acquaintance,  but 
his  eyes  are  sending  out  a  fiery  cataract  of  them  this 
minute.  A  good  thing  for  me  he  does  n't  know  what  I 
know,  or  the  fire  would  be  turned  upon  me,  and  I  should 
wither  like  "She"  in  her  second  bath. 

Quickly  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  've  done,  and  why  Sir 
Lionel  is  wild;  also  how  I  've  rearranged  everything  and 
everybody  at  the  last  minute,  in  order  to  satisfy  you. 
What  a  precious  darling  aunt  you  have  got,  to  be  sure, 
and  what  a  lot  you  do  owe  her! 

For  motives  of  my  own,  I  planned  to  transplant  your 
sweet  Ellaline  from  our  motor-car  to  the  motor-car  of 
others  for  the  day.  The  "others"  are  George  and 
Sallie  Tyndal,  about  whose  sudden,  apropos  appearance 
I  wrote  your  mother  only  yesterday;  but,  of  course,  as 
you  're  leaving  to-day  you  '11  miss  the  news  in  that  letter. 
I  thought  your  anxiety  for  your  parent's  health  would 
hardly  be  poignant  enough  to  keep  you  in  Scotland 
long,  but  I  did  n't  suppose  you  'd  be  able  to  tear  yourself 
away  quite  so  soon. 

I  don't  doubt  you  wonder  how  it  can  be  possible  for  me 
to  have  too  much  of  dear  E.'s  society,  but  strange  as  that 
may  seem,  it  can ;  and  worse  than  that,  I  dislike  Sir  Lionel 
getting  too  much  of  it.  I  don't  think  it  is  good  for  him; 
and  he  's  had  enough  of  the  commodity  since  we  've  been 
in  Tintagel  to  produce,  according  to  my  point  of  view 
and  yours,  disastrous  effects.  I  decided  that  drastic 
measures  were  necessary  for  both  our  sakes,  and  with  me 
to  decide  is  to  act  —  when  anything  really  important  is 
at  stake. 

First  I  persuaded  the  Tyndals  that  it  would  be  kindly 


SET  IN  SILVER  273 

to  invite  Miss  I/ethbridge  to  travel  in  their  motor  to  Bide- 
ford,  whither  they  also  are  bound.  I  said  that  Sir  Lionel 
feared  we  would  be  rather  a  crowd  for  his  car,  as  the 
roads  are  supposed  to  be  bad.  This  flattered  them,  for 
their  motor,  which  is  somewhat  more  powerful  than  ours, 
is  the  one  object  for  which  they  live  at  present.  Besides, 
they  were  delighted  at  the  chance  of  getting  the  girl  to 
themselves,  as  they  think  they  met  her  years  ago  in  Italy, 
where  it  is  alleged  she  has  never  been.  Some  school  girl 
escapade,  perhaps.  You  had  better  do  a  little  catechising, 
later  on.  Meanwhile,  the  Tyndals  yearn  for  the  oppor- 
tunity of  pumping.  Sir  Lionel  has  quite  fiercely  pre- 
vented them  from  doing  so,  up  to  date.  He  looked 
ready  to  challenge  poor  George  to  a  duel  the  other  evening 
for  merely  suggesting  that  they  might  have  met  Miss 
Lethbridge  in  Venice. 

To  Sir  L.  I  hinted  that  Ellaline  was  bored,  now  that 
you  were  gone,  and  that  she  would  enjoy  the  change  of 
travelling  for  a  day  with  new  people;  that  she  had  taken 
a  fancy  to  the  Tyndal  boy;  and  I  added  that  she  had 
asked  me  privately  whether  I  thought  that  Sir  Lionel 
would  object  to  her  accepting,  provided  the  Tyndals 
wanted  her  to  go  to  Bideford.  Naturally,  when  the 
invitation  came,  he  did  not  object.  You  'd  have  laughed 
if  you  could  have  seen  her  face  when  he  smiled  with 
apparent  benevolent  delight  upon  the  suggestion.  The 
sight  would  have  repaid  you  for  many  a  snub,  my  poor 
love-sick  swain! 

That  was  where  matters  stood  till  your  telegram  came, 
a  few  minutes  ago.  All  I  hoped  for  was,  to  get  rid  of 
the  dear  child  for  one  long,  happy  day,  and  to  estrange 


274  SET  IN  SILVER 

her  a  little  (partly  for  your  sake)  from  her  solicitous  guard- 
ian. But  your  wire  set  another  bee  humming  in  my 
motor-bonnet.  I  determined  to  do  you  a  good  turn  if 
I  could;  so  I  flew  up,  before  answering  you,  to  have  a  talk 
with  the  Tyndals.  They  were  starting  a  few  minutes 
after  us,  by  my  advice,  and  had  n't  come  downstairs  yet. 
Ellaline,  too,  was  still  in  her  room,  sulking,  no  doubt,  and 
had  n't  said  good-bye  to  Sir  Lionel  or  any  of  us.  I  know 
that,  because  my  room  at  this  hotel  has  been  close  to  hers 

—  and  to  his,  too;  so  whenever  a  word  is  murmured  on 
a  doorstep    I  hear.     No  word  has  been  murmured  this 
morning;  and  E.  has  had  her  breakfast  sent  into  her 
bedroom. 

To  the  Tyndals  I  said  that  word  had  arrived  from 
you,  and  that  in  confidence  I  would  tell  them  that  you  and 
Miss  Lethbridge  are  as  good  as  engaged.  At  least,  that 
you  had  a  private  understanding  which  would  be  an 
engagement  if  Sir  Lionel  were  n't  a  dog  in  the  manger. 
He  did  n't  want  the  girl  himself,  I  explained,  yet  he  did  n't 
want  to  give  her  to  anyone  else  —  short  of  a  millionaire. 
You,  I  went  on  to  say,  had  wired  that  you  would  be  back 
this  evening,  and  Ellaline  was  dying  to  stay  and  see  you. 
Sir  Lionel  did  n't  know  you  were  coming,  I  confessed, 
and  would  be  angry  if  he  did ;  but  if  they  —  the  Tyndals 

—  could  somehow  misunderstand  the  arrangements  made 
overnight,  and  in  the  confusion  of  their  minds  leave  Miss 
Lethbridge  behind,  it  would  be  a  great  favour  to  everyone 
concerned  —  except  Sir  Lionel. 

The  Tyndals,  who  think  a  lot  of  themselves  because 
they  have  more  money  than  brains,  are  annoyed  with  Sir 
L.  because  he  snapped  at  them  about  Venice;  so  they 


SET  IN  SILVER  275 

were  rather  pleased  at  the  idea  of  doing  him  a  bad  turn 
and  at  the  same  time  advancing  Love's  Young  Dream. 
When  I  assured  them  it  would  be  easy  to  say  that  they 
understood  Ellaline  had  changed  her  mind  and  was 
going  with  Sir  Lionel,  they  agreed  to  slip  off  without  her 
about  half  an  hour  after  the  flight  of  Apollo.  That 
is  the  plan,  as  it  stands,  up  to  date.  Sir  Lionel  and  Mrs. 
Norton  won't  know  till  this  evening  at  Bideford  that  E. 
is  n't  with  the  Tyndals;  and  then  of  course  I  shall  get 
George  and  Sallie  out  of  his  bad  graces  as  well  as  I  can. 
Meanwhile  you  will  find  her  at  Tintagel,  and  can  bring 
her  on  by  rail.  That  will  be  delightful  for  you;  and  as 
Sir  Lionel  is  old-fashioned  in  some  of  his  notions,  he 
may  be  more  inclined  to  consent  to  an  engagement  between 
you  after  the  sort  of  journey  you  and  she  will  have 
together.  So  I  think  all  interests  will  have  been  served. 

I  am  writing  in  the  big  hall  of  the  hotel,  and  Sir  Lionel  is 
walking  up  and  down,  glaring  first  out  of  one  window, 
and  then  out  of  another,  at  the  rain,  which  is  beginning  to 
come  down  in  drops  as  large  as  half-crowns.  I  only 
wish  my  half  crowns,  or  even  my  shillings,  were  as  plenti- 
ful 1  But  perhaps  they  will  be,  some  day  before  long  — 
who  knows?  I  do  hope  Ellaline  won't  take  it  into  her 
head  to  appear  at  the  last  minute  before  we  get  off,  and 
complicate  things.  Not  that  I  won't  be  equal  to  dis- 
posing of  her  if  she  does !  But  no !  here  is  Young  Nick, 
very  meek  and  soapy.  He  has  got  his  petrol.  Emily 
Norton  reluctantly  puts  down  a  twenty-year-old  volume 
of  Blackwood  which  she  has  found  in  the  hotel  library. 
We  are  off.  Good-bye  —  and  good  luck. 

GWEN. 


XXIII 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Tintagel,  August  13th 

DEAREST  LODESTAR:  I  can  feel  you  drawing  me  across 
miles  of  land  and  sea,  and  if  only  I  could  travel  on  a 
'telepathic  pass  I  would  start  this  minute,  Ellaline  or 
no  Ellaline.  Toward  her  and  Sir  Lionel  I  feel  as  Mer- 
cutio  felt  toward  the  Montagus  and  Capulets:  "A 
plague  on  both  your  houses!"  Nobody  seems  to  care 
what  becomes  of  me.  Why  should  I  care  what  becomes 
of  them? 

Everything  is  too  horrid  and  too  extraordinary  to-day. 
I  got  into  the  wrong  side  of  bed  last  night,  and  got  out 
again  on  the  wrong  side  this  morning.  It  happened 
to  be  the  only  side  there  was,  as  the  bed  stands  against 
the  wall  in  an  alcove,  where  it  can't  be  pulled  out;  and 
nobody  could  expect  me  to  bound  like  a  kangaroo  over 
the  foot,  could  they?  But  there  are  times  in  life  when 
every  side  of  everything  is  wrong;  and  this  is  one  of 
those  times  with  me  —  has  been  since  dinner  last  night, 
when  Sir  Lionel  grinned  with  joy  at  the  prospect  of 
shunting  me  upon  the  Tyndal  family  for  a  day.  (When 
you  are  friends  with  people  they  smile;  when  you  are 
x)ut  with  them,  they  grin.) 

Well,  this  morning  I  thought  I  would  n't  hurry  to  get 
276 


SET  IN  SILVER  277 

down.  I  felt,  if  Mrs.  Senter  beamed  at  me  from  under 
her  becoming  motor-hat  at  starting,  I  should  do  her  a 
mischief,  and  if  Emily  smirked  inoffensively  I  should 
throw  Murray  in  her  face.  As  for  Sir  Lionel  —  words 
fail  to  express  what  I  believed  myself  capable  of  doing 
to  him.  I  could  have  stolen  his  car,  in  which  he  ap- 
peared to  grudge  me  a  seat,  and  have  gone  off  with  it 
into  space  to  be  a  motor  pirate.  Whence  can  I  have 
inherited  these  vicious  tendencies?  Truly,  I  never 
supposed  I  had  them  before;  but  you  don't  know  your- 
self until  people  have  practically  accused  you  of  taking 
up  too  much  room  in  their  old  automobiles,  although 
you  're  perfectly  aware  that  you  are  less  than  eighteen 
inches  wide  at  your  broadest  part  in  your  thickest  frock, 
and  you  thought  they  liked  your  society  and  kept  your 
gloves.  In  that  mood  I  would  n't  have  condescended 
to  see  Apollo  off  if  he  'd  been  twice  a  god,  armed  with 
an  invitation  for  me  from  Juno  to  a  house-party  on 
Olympus. 

No  sooner,  however,  did  I  hear  his  dear  familiar  pun- 
as he  swept  away  from  the  door  of  the  hotel  (my  balcony 
is  a  corner  one,  and  I  could  just  catch  the  well-known 
c-r-r-r)  when  I  regretted  intensely  that  I  had  n't  been 
en  evidence,  looking  indifferent.  Suddenly,  I  suffered 
pangs  of  apprehension  lest  my  stopping  in  my  room 
had  seemed  like  (what  it  really  was)  a  fit  of  the  sulks; 
but  it  was  past  repentance-time.  Apollo  was  gone, 
Mrs.  Senter  doubtless  sitting  by  Sir  Lionel's  side  as 
usual,  and  probably  commenting  wittily  on  my  silly 
conduct. 

The  Tyndals  told  me  last  night  that  they  meant  to 


278  SET  IN  SILVER 

start  at  ten,  so  I  went  downstairs  five  minutes  before, 
too  late  to  have  to  wait  about,  too  early  to  be  called.  I 
expected  to  find  them  in  the  hall,  and  when  they  were  n't 
there,  I  strolled  out  to  see  if  the  motor  had  come  to  the 
door,  thinking  they  might  be  watching  the  loading  up 
of  their  luggage.  As  for  mine,  Apollo  had  taken  it  as 
usual,  except  a  pretty  little  fitted  handbag,  small  and 
wonderfully  convenient,  which  Sir  Lionel  came  across 
in  a  shop  and  bought  for  me  (I  mean  for  Ellaline)  at 
Torquay.  But  there  was  n't  a  Tyndal  in  sight,  and 
not  so  much  as  the  smell  of  a  motor-car,  so  I  wandered 
inside  and  asked  the  handsome  landlady,  whom  I  met 
near  King  Arthur's  Round  Table,  whether  she  had 
seen  the  Tyndal  automobile  or  its  owners. 

"Why,"  said  she,  "they  went  off  about  ten  minutes 
ago." 

"Went  off  —  where?"  I  asked  blankly. 

"To  Bideford,  I  think  they  were  going,"  she  replied. 

"That  can  't  be,  for  I  was  to  have  gone  with  them," 
said  I. 

"Indeed?"  exclaimed  the  landlady,  polite  but  puzzled. 
"I  did  n't  know.  I  thought  you  had  gone  with  your 
own  party.  I  was  surprised  to  meet  you  here  just  now. 
I  'm  afraid  there  must  have  been  some  misunderstanding, 
for  certainly  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyndal  and  their  young 
cousin  have  really  gone,  because  they  bade  me  good- 
bye here  in  the  hall,  and  said  they  hoped  to  come  back 
some  day." 

She  looked  at  me  pityingly,  and  I  felt  exactly  like 
Robinson  Crusoe  before  he  knew  there  was  going  to  be 
a  Friday;  but,  like  him,  I  kept  a  stiff  upper  lip.  I  am 


SET  IN  SILVER  279 

happy  to  say  I  even  laughed.  "Well,  that  's  very 
funny,"  said  I,  as  if  being  pigeon-holed  by  Sir  Lionel 
and  marooned  by  the  Tyndals  was  the  most  amusing 
experience  in  the  world,  and  I  simply  delighted  in  it. 
"Of  course,  somebody  or  other  will  count  noses  and 
miss  me  after  a  while.  Then  they  '11  have  to  come  back 
and  fetch  me,  I  suppose." 

"You  could  go  on  to  Bideford  by  rail,  if  you  liked," 
the  landlady  informed  me  gratuitously.  "There  is  a 
train  early  this  afternoon,  and " 

"Oh,  I  think  I'd  better  wait  here,"  I  said.  "If 
they  came  back  and  found  me  gone,  it  would  be  too 
complicated." 

She  agreed;  but  she  little  guessed  how  much  more 
complicated  it  would  be  to  take  a  train  for  anywhere 
without  any  pennies.  If  I  had  money,  I  would  go  to 
you,  and  not  to  Bideford.  At  least,  that  is  the  way  I 
feel  now;  but  I  suppose  I  would  n't,  for  my  obligations 
to  Ellaline  have  n't  snapped  with  the  strain  of  the  situa- 
tion, although  just  at  this  moment  they  don't  seem  to 
matter.  It 's  only  deep  down  in  my  heart  that  I  know 
they  do  matter. 

There  is  my  scrape,  dearest  of  women,  and  mamma 
whom  I  would  select  if  I  were  able  to  choose  among 
all  eligible  mothers  since  Eve,  up  to  date.  The  situation 
has  n't  changed  in  the  least,  to  the  time  of  writing, 
except  that  it  has  lasted  longer,  and  got  frayed  round  the 
edges. 

I  was  paid  for,  including  food  and  lodging,  until  after 
breakfast.  It  is  now  half-past  five  o'clock  P.M.,  pouring 
with  rain,  howling  with  wind,  and  not  only  has  nobody 


280  SET  IN  SILVER 

come  back  to  collect  me,  but  nobody  has  telephoned  or 
telegraphed.  I  have  eaten,  or  pretended  to  eat,  a  lunch- 
eon, for  which  I  have  no  money  to  pay.  I  refused  tea, 
but  was  so  kindly  urged  that  I  had  to  reconsider;  and 
the  buttered  toast  of  servitude  is  at  this  moment  sticking 
in  my  throat,  lodged  on  the  sharp  edge  of  an  unuttered 
sob.  Your  poor,  forlorn  little  daughter!  What  is  to 
become  of  her?  Will  she  have  to  go  to  the  place  of 
unclaimed  parcels  ?  Or  will  she  be  sold  as  bankrupt 
stock  ?  Or  will  she  become  a  kitchen-maid  or  "tweeny" 
in  King  Arthur's  Castle?  But  don't  worry,  darling. 
I  won't  be  such  a  beast  as  to  post  this  letter  till 
something  is  settled,  somehow,  even  if  I  have  to  rob  the 
hotel  till. 

There  is  nothing  to  do  except  write,  for  I  can't  com- 
pose my  mind  to  read;  so  I  will  continue  recording  my 
emotions,  as  French  criminals  do  when  condemned 
to  death,  or  lovesick  ladies  when  they  have  swallowed 
slow  poison. 

5.50. — Rain  worse.  Wind  yelling  imprecations.  I 
sit  in  the  hall,  as  I  can't  call  my  room  my  own.  New 
people  are  arriving.  They  look  Cook-ey,  but  are  prob- 
ably Countesses.  I  gaze  at  them  haughtily,  and  try  to 
appear  prosperous.  I  hope  they  think  my  mother, 
the  Duchess,  is  taking  a  nap  in  our  magnificent  suite 
upstairs,  while  I  write  a  letter  to  my  godfather,  the 
Prince,  to  thank  him  for  his  birthday  gift  of  a  rope  of 
pearls  which  reaches  to  my  knees. 

6.15. — The  landlady  has  just  been  sympathizing  with 
me.  She  says  there  is  a  night  train  to  Bideford.  I 
have  poured  cold  water  upon  the  night  train  to  Bide- 


SET  IN  SILVER  281 

ford,  and  came  near  pouring  some  hot  tears  on  the  time- 
table she  kindly  brought  me. 

6.25. — People  are  going  up  to  dress  for  dinner.  They 
are  God's  creatures,  but  I  do  not  love  them. 

6.40. — The  head-waiter  has  just  fluttered  up  to  ask 
if  I  would  like  a  smaller  table  for  dinner.  No  table 
would  be  too  small  for  my  appetite.  I  said 

7.10. — Darling,  Sir  Lionel  has  come  back  for  me, 
alone,  dripping  wet,  and  it  was  all  a  mistake,  and  he  did 
want  me,  and  he  's  furious  with  everybody  in  the  world 
except  me,  to  whom  he  is  perfectly  adorable.  And 
I  'm  afraid  I  adore  him.  And  we  're  starting  at  once, 
when  we  've  had  a  sandwich  and  coffee  —  can  't  wait 
for  dinner.  Everything  is  too  nice.  I  '11  explain  as  soon 
as  I  've  time  to  write. 

Your  Radiant  Transformation  Scene, 

A.B. 


XXIV 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

The  Luttrell  Arms,  Dunster 
Aug.  18th 

DUCK  OF  THE  UNIVERSE:  Five  days  since  I  wrote, 
and  it  seems  five  minutes.  But  I  did  telegraph  —  with 
my  last  shilling;  and  even  that  would  be  rightfully  Ella- 
line's,  if  the  labourer  were  n't  worthy  of  his  hire. 

You  see,  after  the  letter  I  had  from  her  in  Torquay, 
when  she  wanted  money  to  go  to  Scotland  with  her  new 
friends,  the  McNamaras,  I  very  reluctantly  screwed 
my  courage  to  the  asking  point,  and  got  more  out  of  Sir 
Lionel.  If  he  were  n't  the  most  generous  man  in  the 
world  he  would  have  privately  dubbed  me  "Oliver 
Twist"  by  this  time.  Perhaps  he  has!  But  I  trust 
not.  Anyhow,  I  shall  get  on  without  more  requests, 
I  hope,  until  the  next  "allowance"  day  comes  round;  or 
until  every  pin  is  lost  and  every  hairpin  has  dropped  out. 

Because  in  the  telegram  I  was  forced  to  be  economical, 
and  ran  only  to  "All  well.  Love"  ("much"  scratched 
out  as  an  extravagance),  I  must  now  go  back  to  the  mo- 
ment of  Sir  Lionel's  unexpected,  almost  miraculous, 
appearance  at  Tintagel. 

There  I  was  in  the  hall,  scribbling  dolefully  about 
my  symptoms.  "Teuf,  teuf,  teuf!"  heard  outside, 


SET  IN  SILVER  283 

between  screeches  of  wind.  In  bounces  Sir  Lionel,  wet 
as  a  merman,  dripping  rivulets  at  every  step,  splashing, 
swashing  in  his  boots,  drops  dripping  from  his  eyelashes; 
glares  around,  looking  ready  to  bite  someone's  head  off 
without  salt  or  sauce;  sees  me;  brightens  with  a  watery 
gleam;  comes  toward  me,  rather  shy  and  stiff,  yet  evi- 
dently under  the  influence  of  —  emotion  of  some  sort. 
I  did  n't  know  whether  to  expect  a  scolding  or  a  blessing, 
so  waited  speechless. 

"What  a  brute  you  must  think  me,"  was  his  first 
remark.  I  drank  it  as  a  thirsty  traveller  lost  on  the 
Sahara  would  bolt  a  pint  of  dew. 

"I  did  n't  know  what  to  think,"  I  replied  conserva- 
tively. "But  you  are  wet,  aren't  you?" 

"Am  I?"  he  asked,  mildly  surprised.  "I  hadn't 
noticed.  I  suppose  I  am.  It 's  raining." 

"I  should  think  it  was,"  said  I.  And  then  we  both 
laughed.  It  is  the  nicest  thing,  to  laugh  with  Sir  Lionel! 
Whatever  he  might  have  done  against  me,  I  forgave 
him  all  instantly. 

"Never  mind  whether  I  'm  wet  or  dry,"  he  went  on. 
"Whichever  I  am,  it  won't  hurt  me.  The  only  thing 
that  has  hurt  was  thinking  of  you  being  here  —  aban- 
doned. By  Jove!  —  I  've  been  in  a  murderous  mood!" 

"A  good  thing  you  weren't  back  in  Bengal,"  said  I, 
mildly. 

He  looked  at  me  with  a  sharp  look.  "Who  has  been 
telling  you  tales  about  me  in  Bengal?" 

"I  sometimes  read  newspapers,"  I  explained. 

"Schoolgirls  have  no  business  with  newspapers.  But 
hang  Bengal!  I  want  to  come  to  an  understanding 


284  SET  IN  SILVER 

with  you.  Is  it  true  or  is  it  not  that  you  wanted  to  go 
with  the  Tyndals  in  their  motor  to-day?" 

"I  wanted  to,  if  you  wanted  me  to." 

"I  did  n't.  I  hated  the  idea.  But,  of  course,  if 
you " 

"I  didn't.  I  hated  the  idea.  But  I  thought  your 
motor  was  too  full  for  such  hilly  country." 

(Dearest,  I  longed  to  tell  him  who  had  said  that  he 
had  said,  etc.,  etc.;  but  I  'd  promised;  and  one  must 
keep  one's  promises  even  to  Cats.) 

"My  dear  child,"  Sir  Lionel  burst  out,  "little  girls 
should  n't  do  too  much  independent  thinking.  It 's 
bad  for  their  health  and  their  guardians'  tempers.  If 
my  motor  had  been  too  full  for  hilly  country,  you 
would  n't  have  been  the  Jonah  to  cast  into  the  sea. 
Nick  would  have  been  fed  to  the  whales.  But  the  idea 
was  ridiculous  —  ridiculous ! " 

I  was  so  happy,  I  did  n't  even  want  to  defend  myself. 
I  understood  most  of  the  mystery  now.  I  suppose  it 's 
a  compliment  to  a  girl  if  a  woman  of  the  world  wants 
to  get  rid  of  her.  Anyhow,  I  consoled  myself  for  hours 
of  misery  by  laying  that  flattering  unction  to  my  soul. 

If  I  had  liked,  I  could  have  unravelled  the  whole 
tangle  for  Sir  Lionel's  still  puzzled  mind ;  but  if  I  had  done 
so,  I  should  have  been  returning  cat-claw  for  cat-claw; 
so  I  pretended  to  be  "lost  in  it,  my  lord";  and,  indeed, 
it  was  true  that  I  could  n't  understand  why  the  Tyndals 
had  failed  me. 

Sir  Lionel  explained  that,  just  before  reaching  Bide- 
ford  the  silencer  worked  loose,  and  so  got  upon  Mrs. 
Norton's  nerves  that  Apollo  was  stopped  in  the  pouring 


SET  IN  SILVER  285 

rain  for  Young  Nick  to  right  the  wrong.  As  if  to  prove 
the  truth  of  the  proverb,  "the  more  haste  the  less  speed," 
in  his  hurry  poor  Buddha  burnt  his  hand.  While  he 
was  wringing  it  like  a  distracted  goblin,  along  came  the 
Tyndal  car,  which  had  left  Tintagel  about  half  an  hour 
after  Apollo.  To  Sir  Lionel's  amazement,  no  me! 
Questions  on  his  part;  according  to  him,  idiotic  answers 
on  the  part  of  the  Tyndals.  He  had  thought,  of  course, 
I  was  going  with  them.  They  had  thought  that  I  'd 
changed  my  mind,  and  gone  earlier  with  him.  Every- 
body confused,  apologetic,  repeating  the  same  silly 
excuses  over  and  over,  three  or  four  times.  Nobody 
showing  the  slightest  sign  of  having  a  remnant  of  common- 
sense. 

"  By  Jove !  I  could  have  cheerfully  executed  the  lot 
of  them  —  all  but  the  boy,  who  seemed  to  have  some 
glimmerings  of  sanity,"  grumbled  Sir  Lionel.  "He 
had  wanted  to  run  up  and  knock  at  your  door,  to  make 
sure  you  really  had  gone;  but  somebody  —  he  began 
to  say  who,  when  Mrs.  Tyndal  stepped  on  his  foot  — 
forbade  him  to  do  it." 

I  think  I  can  guess  who  the  somebody  was,  can't 
you  ?  Though  I  don't  see  what  arguments  she  can 
have  used  to  persuade  the  really  good-natured  Tyndals 
to  abandon  me. 

The  rest  of  the  story  is,  that  when  Sir  Lionel  found 
I  had  been  left  behind,  he  said  he  would  at  once  turn 
back  and  fetch  me.  Judging  from  one  or  two  things 
he  let  slip  inadvertently,  I  fancy  he  wanted  Emily  to 
come  with  him,  but  she  drew  the  line  at  chaperoning  in 
wet  weather,  and  missing  her  tea.  She  proposed  tele- 


286  SETINSILVER 

graphing  for  me  to  come  on  by  rail.  Sir  Lionel  would  n't 
hear  of  my  making  such  a  journey  unaccompanied  — 
me,  a  simple  little  French  schoolgirl  who  had  never 
travelled  alone  in  her  life!  Then  Mrs.  Senter,  kind 
creature,  volunteered  to  be  his  companion,  if  he  must 
return;  but  Sir  Lionel  firmly  refused  the  unselfish  offer, 
saying  he  would  n't  for  the  world  put  her  to  so  much 
unnecessary  trouble.  Nick  he  would  have  brought, 
but  the  unfortunate  brown  image  was  suffering  so  much 
pain  from  his  burnt  hand,  that  the  only  humane  thing 
to  do  was  to  drive  him  to  a  doctor's  —  which  was  exactly 
what  Sir  Lionel  did.  Rooms  were  already  engaged  at 
the  Royal  Hotel;  he  dumped  out  Emily,  Mrs.  Norton, 
and  the  luggage  there;  left  Young  Nick  having  his  hand 
treated;  and  without  so  much  as  crossing  the  threshold 
of  the  hotel,  turned  Apollo's  bright  bonnet  toward  Tin- 
tagel  and  me.  Rain  was  coming  down  in  floods.  He 
said  nothing  about  that,  but  I  knew.  The  storm  drew 
down  twilight  like  the  lid  of  a  box;  the  road  was  deep 
in  mud;  everything  that  could  happen  to  delay  the  car 
did  happen;  once  Sir  Lionel  had  to  mend  a  tyre  himself, 
and  almost  wished  he  had  n't  made  Young  Nick  dis- 
gorge the  stolen  tool;  he  ought  to  have  arrived  at  Tin- 
tagel  an  hour  before  he  did;  but  here  he  was  at  last. 
And  would  I  have  a  sandwich,  and  then  start,  or  would 
I  prefer  to  wait  for  dinner? 

I  snatched  at  the  sandwich  idea,  and  his  eye  bright- 
ened. He  said  he  only  looked  wet,  for  everything  was 
waterproof,  and  he  was  "right  as  rain"  —  which  sounded 
too  appropriate  to  be  comfortable 

We  ate  as  the  Israelites  of  old  in  Passover  days,  figura- 


SETINSILVER  287 

lively  with  our  staves  in  our  hands;  at  least,  I  had  a  bag 
in  mine,  and  Sir  Lionel  a  road  book,  because  he  'd  lost 
his  way  once  in  his  haste,  and  did  n't  want  to  make 
further  mistakes. 

By  the  time  we  were  ready  to  start,  it  was  as  if  Merlin 
had  woven  an  enchantment  of  invisibility,  not  only  over 
the  castle  ruins,  but  over  the  whole  landscape,  which  was 
blotted  out  behind  a  white  avalanche  of  rain.  The  wind 
howled,  mingling  with  the  boom  of  the  sea;  and  alto- 
gether it  was  such  a  bewitched,  Walpurgis  world  that  I 
tingled  with  excitement. 

Sir  Lionel  wanted  to  put  me  inside  the  car,  but  I 
pleaded  that  I  had  been  so  lonely  and  sad  all  day,  I 
must  be  close  to  someone  now.  This  plea  instantly 
broke  down  his  determination,  which  had  been  very 
square-chinned  and  firm  till  I  happened  to  think  of  that 
argument. 

He  knew  my  coat  to  be  waterproof,  because  he  chose 
it  himself  in  London,  and  I  tied  on  a  perfectly  sweet 
rain-hood,  which  I  'd  never  needed  before,  because 
this  was  the  only  real  storm  we  'd  had.  It  is  a  crimson 
hood,  and  I  knew  I  was  nice  in  it,  from  the  look  of  Sir 
Lionel's  eyes. 

This  was  my  first  night  run  in  the  car,  and  the  first 
time  since  starting  on  the  tour  that  I  'd  sat  on  the  front 
seat  by  his  side.  Early  as  it  was,  it  "made  night,"  and 
Sir  Lionel  lit  the  great  lamps.  Instantly  it  was  as  if  a 
curtain  of  darkness  unrolled  on  either  side,  leaving 
only  the  road  clear  and  pale,  spouting  mud,  and  the 
rain  in  front  like  a  silver  veil  floating  across  black  velvet. 
I  sat  close  to  Sir  Lionel.  I  can't  tell  you  how  good  the 


288  SETINSILVER 

sense  of  his  nearness  and  protection  was,  and  how  glad 
I  felt  to  know  that  he  had  n't  really  wanted  to  send  me 
away  from  him.  I  would  have  given  up  anything  —  no, 
everything  else  in  the  world  just  then,  for  the  sake  of 
that  knowledge  —  except,  of  course,  your  dear  love. 
We  didn't  talk  much,  but  he  is  one  of  those  men  to 
whom  you  don't  need  to  talk.  The  silence  was  like  that 
unerring  kind  of  speech  when  you  can't  say  the  wrong 
thing  if  you  try;  and  if  Sir  Lionel  had  said  in  the  wind 
and  darkness:  "I  have  got  to  drive  the  car  into  the  sea, 
and  you  and  I  must  die  together  in  five  minutes,"  I 
should  have  answered:  "Very  well.  With  you  I  'm  not 
afraid."  And  it  would  have  been  true. 

The  hills  looked  stupendous  before  we  quite  came  to 
them;  great  bunchy  black  humps  of  night;  but  they 
seemed  to  kneel  like  docile  elephants  as  we  drew  near, 
to  let  Apollo  mount  upon  their  backs.  We  passed 
lovely  old  cottages,  which  in  the  strange  white  light  of 
our  Bleriots  looked  flat,  as  stage  scenery,  against  that 
wide-stretched  "back-cloth"  of  inky  velvet.  It  was 
like  motoring  in  a  dream  —  one  of  those  dreams  born 
before  you  've  quite  dropped  asleep,  while  your  eyes 
are  still  open.  We  tore  through  Boscastle,  and  on  to 
Bude,  along  an  empty  road,  with  the  trees  flying  by  like 
torn  black  flags,  and  the  rain  giving  a  glimpse  now  and 
then  of  tall  cliffs,  as  its  veil  blew  aside.  I  was  never 
so  happy  in  my  life,  and  when  I  just  could  n't  help  saying 
so  to  Sir  Lionel,  what  do  you  suppose  he  answered  ? 
"That 's  exactly  what  I  was  thinking."  And  then  he 
added:  "Good  girl!  Grand  little  sportswoman!  I'm 
proud  of  you!" 


SET  IN  SILVER  289 

Presently,  once  in  a  while  the  dazzling  radiance  of  our 
lamps  would  die  down  and  threaten  to  fail.  At  last 
it  did  fail  altogether,  and  we  were  blotted  out  in  the 
night,  as  if  we  had  suddenly  ceased  to  exist.  "Carbide 
all  used  up,"  explained  Sir  Lionel.  By  this  time  we 
were  near  Hartland  Point  (the  promontory  of  Hercules 
for  the  ancients)  and  Sir  Lionel  said  that  the  best  thing 
to  do  was  to  crawl  on  slowly  until  we  should  come  to 
Clovelly.  There  we  could  leave  the  car  at  the  top  of 
the  hill,  go  down  to  the  village,  rouse  someone  at  a  hotel, 
get  hot  coffee,  and  wait  until  dawn,  when  the  lamps 
would  no  longer  be  needed. 

We  could  distinguish  nothing  in  the  night,  except 
a  glimmer  of  road  between  dark  banks,  until  suddenly, 
looking  far  down  toward  the  moaning  sea,  we  caught 
sight  of  a  few  lights  like  yellow  stars  which  seemed  to 
have  been  tossed  over  a  precipice,  and  to  have  caught 
on  a  steep  hillside,  as  they  rolled.  "That 's  Clovelly," 
said  Sir  Lionel.  He  stopped  the  car  on  a  kind  of  natural 
plateau  and  lifted  me  lightly  down,  so  that  I  should  n't 
splash  into  unseen  abysses  of  mud.  Apollo  would  be 
safe  there,  he  said,  though  in  old  days  the  folk  of  Clovelly 
used  to  be  not  only  desperate  smugglers,  but  wreckers, 
and  would  entice  ships  upon  the  rocks  by  means  of  lure- 
lights.  They  were  very  different  now,  and  as  honest 
and  kind-hearted  as  any  people  in  the  world. 

There  was  no  dawn  yet,  but  the  wind  had  dropped 
a  little,  and  the  long  crystal  spears  of  rain  seemed  to 
bring  with  them  an  evanescent,  ethereal  glitter,  reflected 
from  unseen  stars  above  the  clouds.  The  trembling 
silver  haze  dimly  showed  us  how  to  pick  our  way  down 


290  SETINSILVER 

a  steep,  narrow  street  of  steps,  over  which  fountains  of 
water  played  and  swirled.  There  were  lights  of  boats 
in  a  little  harbour,  far,  far  below,  and  the  extraordinary 
village  of  tiny  white  houses  appeared  to  have  tumbled 
down  hill,  like  a  broken  string  of  pearls  fallen  from  a 
goddess's  neck. 

Sir  Lionel  held  my  arm  to  keep  me  from  tripping, 
and  we  descended  the  steps  slowly,  the  rain  that  sprayed 
against  our  faces  smelling  salt  as  the  sea,  its  briny  "tang" 
mingling  with  the  fragrance  of  honeysuckle  and  fuchsias. 
The  combination,  distilled  by  the  night,  was  intoxicating; 
and  if  I  ever  smell  it  again,  even  at  the  other  end  of  the 
world,  my  thoughts  will  run  back  to  Sir  Lionel  and  the 
fairy  village  of  Clovelly. 

Half-way  down  the  cleft  in  the  cliff,  which  is  Clovelly's 
one. street,  we  stopped  at  a  house  where  a  faint  light 
burned  sleepily.  It  was  the  New  Inn,  and  when  Sir 
Lionel  knocked  loudly,  I  was  doubtful  as  to  the  recep- 
tion we  were  likely  to  have  at  such  an  hour.  But  I 
need  n't  have  worried  —  in  Devon !  Even  if  you  wake 
people  out  of  pleasant  dreams  to  disagreeable  realities, 
and  demand  coffee,  and  trail  wet  marks  over  their  clean 
floors,  they  are  kind  and  friendly.  A  delightful  man 
let  us  in,  and  instead  of  scolding,  pitied  us  —  a  great  deal 
more  than  I,  at  any  rate,  needed  to  be  pitied.  He  lit 
lights,  and  we  saw  a  quaint  room,  whose  shadows  threw 
out  unexpected  gleams  of  polished  brass,  and  blues 
and  pinks  of  old  china. 

Though  the  calendar  said  August  13th,  the  tempera- 
ture talked  it  down,  and  insisted  on  November,  so  an 
invitation  into  a  clean,  warm  kitchen  was  acceptable. 


SET  IN  SILVER  291 

The  nice  man  poked  up  the  dying  fire,  put  on  wood  and 
coals,  and  soon  got  a  kettle  of  water  to  boiling.  We 
should  have  some  good  hot  coffee,  he  cheerily  promised, 
before  we  could  say  "Jack  Robinson."  But  when  it 
leaked  out  that  we  had  had  no  dinner  except  a  sandwich 
at  Tintagel,  and  nothing  since,  his  warm  Devonshire 
heart  yearned  over  us;  and  to  the  hot  coffee  he  added 
eggs  and  bacon. 

While  the  dear  things  fizzled  and  bubbled,  we  were 
allowed  to  sit  by  the  stove  and  toast  our  feet;  and  if  any- 
thing could  have  smelled  more  heavenly  than  the  salt 
rain  and  sweet  honeysuckle  out  of  doors,  it  would  have 
been  the  eggs  and  bacon  in  the  New  Inn  kitchen. 

We  begged  to  eat  in  the  kitchen,  too,  and  even  that 
was  permitted  us,  at  a  table  spread  with  a  clean  cloth 
which  must  have  been  put  away  in  a  lavender  cupboard. 
By  the  time  the  coffee,  with  foaming  hot  milk,  and  the 
sizzling  eggs  and  bacon  were  ready,  the  early  daylight 
was  blue  on  the  window  panes.  The  rain  had  stopped 
with  the  first  hint  of  sunrise,  and  in  Clovelly  at  least 
(Clovelly  means  "shut  in  valley,"  a  name  not  worthy 
of  its  elfin  charm)  the  wind  had  gone  to  sleep. 

I  don't  know  how  much  Sir  Lionel  suggested  paying 
for  that  breakfast,  but  it  must  have  been  something 
out  of  the  way,  for  our  Devonshire  benefactor  protested 
that  it  was  far  too  much.  He  would  accept  the  regular 
price,  and  no  more.  Why,  we  had  only  got  him  up  an 
hour  before  his  usual  time.  That  was  nothing.  It 
would  do  him  good;  and  he  would  have  no  extra  pay. 

Warm,  comfortable,  and  refreshed,  Sir  Lionel  and  I 
bade  our  host  good-bye,  meaning  to  continue  our 


292  SET  IN  SILVER 

journey  to  Bideford;  but  what  we  saw  outside  was  too 
beautiful  to  turn  our  backs  upon  in  that  unappreciative, 
summary  fashion.  It  was  not  sunrise  yet,  but  was 
just  going  to  be  sunrise,  and  the  world  seemed  to  be 
waiting  for  it,  hushed  and  expectant. 

The  white  village  glimmered  in  the  pearly  light,  like 
a  waterfall  arrested  in  its  rush  down  a  cleft  in  a  hill. 
Not  having  seen  Clovelly,  you  may  think  that  a  far- 
fetched simile;  but  really  it  is  n't.  If  a  young  cataract 
could  be  turned  into  a  village,  that  would  be  Clovelly. 
The  marvellous  little  place  is  absolutely  unique;  yet 
if  one  could  liken  it  to  anything  else  on  earth,  it  might 
be  to  a  corner  of  Mont  St.  Michel,  or  a  bit  of  old  Bel- 
lagio,  going  down  to  the  sea;  and  certainly  it  is  more 
Italian  than  English  in  atmosphere  and  colouring,  only 
it  is  perfectly  clean,  as  clean  as  a  toy,  or  a  Dutch  village ; 
so  that  part  of  the  "atmosphere"  isn't  entirely  Italian! 
I  even  saw  waste-paper  pots;  and  if  that  is  n't  like  Broek 
in  Waterland,  what  is?  Down  in  the  harbour,  the  fish- 
ing boats  lay  like  a  flock  of  resting  birds;  and  as  we 
descended  the  cobbled  steps  of  the  street,  to  go  to  the 
shore,  the  early  morning  donkeys  began  to  come  up, 
laden  with  heavy  bags  and  panniers,  just  as  you  and 
I  saw  them  in  Italy,  and  driven  by  just  such  boys  and 
old  men  as  I  remember  there,  dark-eyed,  picturesque,  one 
or  two  with  red  caps.  The  doors  of  the  little  low-browed 
houses  huddled  on  either  side  opened  here  and  there, 
up  and  down  the  path,  giving  glimpses  of  pretty,  neat 
interiors;  bits  of  old  furniture,  the  glint  of  a  copper 
kettle,  a  brass  jug,  or  a  bit  of  mended  blue  china.  A 
gossipy  Devonshire  cat  came  out  and  begged  for  caresses, 


SET    IN  SILVER  293 

mewing  the  news  of  the  night  —  such  a  chatty  creature !  — 
and  down  on  the  beach,  we  made  friends  with  the  oldest 
man  of  the  village,  born  in  1816.  He  was  a  hand- 
some old  fellow,  with  pathetic,  faded  eyes  in  a  tanned, 
ruddy  face;  and  the  queer  little  harbour  (everything 
is  little  at  Clovelly,  except  the  inhabitants)  with  its  rustic 
sort  of  pier,  and  red-sailed  fishing  boats,  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  designed  entirely  as  a  background  for  him. 
However,  it 's  much  more  antique  even  than  he  — 
six  hundred  years  old,  instead  of  something  short  of 
a  hundred,  and  made  by  the  famous  Carey  family.  We 
stopped  there  talking  to  the  ancient  sailor-man,  hearing 
how  the  Clovelly  fishermen  go  out  with  black  nets  by 
day  in  good  weather,  and  at  night  with  white  ones,  to 
"attract  the  fish."  "That  is  trew,  Miss,"  said  he, 
when  I  laughed,  thinking  it  a  joke.  I  love  the  Devon- 
shire way  of  saying  "true,"  and  other  words  that  rhyme. 
Their  soft  voices  are  as  gentle,  as  kindly,  as  the  murmur 
of  their  own  blue  sea. 

As  we  mounted  the  ladder-like  path  to  the  top  of 
Clovelly,  to  go  back  to  Apollo  again,  the  sun  came  up 
out  of  the  sea,  where  the  blue  line  of  water  marked  the 
edge  of  the  world,  and  spilt  floods  of  gold  over  it,  like 
a  tilted  christening  cup.  We  turned  and  stood  still  to 
watch  the  day  born  of  dawn;  and  I  feel  sure  that  if  we 
had  come  to  Clovelly  to  spend  several  weeks,  I  could 
never  have  learned  to  know  the  place  as  I  had  divined 
it,  in  this  adventure.  You  seem  to  learn  more  about 
a  flower  by  inhaling  its  perfume  after  rain,  don't  you 
think,  than  by  dissecting  it,  petal  by  petal?  I  fancy 
there  is  something  like  that  in  getting  the  feeling  and 


294  SET  IN  SILVER 

impression  of  places  at  their  best,  by  sudden 
revelations.  Of  course,  I  want  to  go  back  to  Clovelly, 
but  not  with  any  of  the  Mrs.  Nortons  of  the  world.  I 
could  n't  bear  to  do  that,  after  being  alone  there  with 
Sir  Lionel.  While  one's  heart  is  thrilled  by  exquisite 
sights,  and  the  ineffable  thoughts  born  of  them,  one  knows 
poor  Emily  is  wondering  whether  the  servants  are  looking 
after  things  properly  at  home;  and  that  very  knowledge 
is  apt  to  slam  down  an  iron  shutter  in  one's  soul. 

It  must  have  been  about  five  o'clock  when  we  took 
our  places  in  the  car  again.  We  had  only  eleven  miles' 
run  to  Bideford,  and  I  wished  them  twice  eleven, 
for  surely  they  are  among  the  most  beautiful  miles  in 
England.  No  wonder  people  believe  in  fairies  in  this 
part  of  the  world!  It  would  be  ungrateful  if  they  did  n't. 
As  the  sun  climbed,  the  brown  wood  roads  were  inlaid 
with  gold  in  wavy  patterns.  From  our  heights,  now 
and  again  we  caught  glimpses  of  Clovelly,  down  its 
deep  ravines.  The  Hobby  Drive,  which  belongs  to 
Clovelly  Court,  is  almost  more  exquisite  than  Buck- 
land  Chase,  on  the  way  to  Dartmoor;  if  you  had  been 
there  with  me,  you  would  know  I  could  n't  give  it  higher 
praise.  And  how  I  wish  you  had  been!  How  I  wish 
you  could  see  these  English  woods!  They  have  such 
an  air  of  dainty  gaiety,  very  different  from  Austrian  or 
German  or  French  forests;  and  though  their  elms  and 
oaks  and  beeches  are  often  giants,  they  seem  dedicated 
to  the  spirit  of  youth.  Their  shadows  are  never  black, 
but  only  a  darker  green,  or  translucent  gray;  and  part 
of  their  charm  is  a  nymph-like  frivolousness  which  comes, 
I  think,  from  their  ruffly  green  dessous.  Other  woods 


SET  IN  SILVER  295 

have  no  dessous.  Their  ankles  are  mournfully  bare, 
and  their  stockings  dark. 

In  the  woods  of  the  Hobby  Drive,  the  bracken  was 
like  elfin  plumes;  each  stone,  wrapped  in  moss,  was  a 
lump  of  silver  coated  with  verdigris;  distant  cliffs  seen 
between  the  trees  were  cut  out  of  gray-green  jade, 
against  a  sea  of  changing  opal;  and  in  the  high  minstrel- 
galleries  of  the  latticed  beeches  a  concert  of  birds  was 
fluting. 

Is  n't  Gallantry  Bower  a  fine  name  ?  At  first  thought 
it  would  appear  an  inappropriate  one,  for  it 's  a  sheer 
cliff  overlooking  the  sea  on  one  side  and  a  vast  sweep 
of  woodland  on  the  other;  but  I  can  make  it  seem  appro- 
priate, by  picturing  some  wild  brave  sailor  making  love 
to  his  sweetheart  there,  and  telling  her  about  the  sea, 
her  only  rival  in  his  love.  No  doubt  it 's  a  corruption 
of  some  old  Cornish  name,  and  I  refuse  to  accept  it  as 
a  Lover's  Leap,  though  such  a  legend  has  grown  up 
around  it.  I  'm  tired  of  Lover's  Leaps. 

The  whole  coast,  as  we  swept  round,  was  a  vast 
golden  sickle  in  the  early  morning  light;  and  everything 
was  so  beautiful  that  the  door  of  my  heart  swung  wide 
open.  No  arm  would  have  been  strong  enough  to  push 
it  shut,  not  even  Mrs.  Senter's.  Instead  of  feeling 
angry  with  her,  as  we  drew  near  Bideford,  I  was  grateful 
for  the  adventure  she  had  (indirectly)  given  me. 

The  servants  of  the  Royal  Hotel  were  just  waking  up, 
but,  of  course,  being  Devonshire  people,  instead  of 
being  cross  they  were  delightfully  good-natured  and 
smiling.  I  was  shown  to  a  pleasant  room,  and  provided 
with  a  hot  bath  which  (with  nearly  a  whole  bottle  of 


296  SET  IN  SILVER 

eau  de  Cologne  extravagantly  emptied  into  it)  made  me 
feel  as  if  I  had  had  a  refreshing  eight  hours'  sleep. 
Already  it  seemed  as  if  the  night's  experience  had  been 
a  dream,  dreamed  in  that  sleep.  But  I  was  glad,  glad 
it  was  real,  and  not  a  dream;  something  I  had  lived 
through,  by  Sir  Lionel's  side;  a  clear  memory  to  remain 
like  a  happy  island  in  the  sea  of  life  whatever  the  future 
weather. 

I  dressed  slowly,  not  wanting  even  "forty  winks"; 
and  about  eight  o'clock  Emily  knocked  at  my  door. 
She  had  been  worried,  she  said,  and  not  able  to  sleep, 
fearing  accidents,  waking  now  and  then,  to  listen  for 
the  sound  of  a  car.  Poor  dear,  she  would  n't  know 
Apollo's  noble  voice  from  the  threepenny  thrum  of  a 
motor  bicycle!  But  she  was  kind  and  solicitous,  though 
I  think  a  little  shocked  to  find  my  vitality  in  such  a  state 
of  effervescence.  She  would  have  approved  of  me  if  I 
had  been  a  draggled  wreck;  but  even  as  it  was,  she  felt 
it  worth  while  to  explain  why  she  had  n't  accompanied 
her  brother.  She  would  have  proposed  doing  so,  she 
assured  me,  but  her  neuralgia  had  been  very  trying 
yesterday,  owing  to  the  bad  weather  and  east  wind. 
She  feared  to  be  more  trouble  than  assistance  to  Sir 
Lionel,  and  as  he  was  my  guardian,  I  was  sufficiently 
chaperoned  by  him;  any  expert  in  etiquette  would  con- 
firm her  in  that  opinion,  she  anxiously  added.  Never- 
theless, when  I  told  her  about  our  stop  at  Clovelly, 
she  shook  her  head,  and  intimated  that  perhaps  it 
had  better  not  be  referred  to  in  public.  I  suppose 
by  "in  public,"  she  meant  before  the  Tyndals  and 
Mrs.  Senter. 


SET  IN  SILVER  297 

At  nine  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  fair  Gwen- 
dolen again,  in  one  of  the  most  remarkakle  rooms  you 
can  imagine.  Sir  Lionel  had  engaged  it  in  advance, 
to  be  our  private  sitting-room,  but  it  is  as  celebrated 
as  it  is  interesting.  Only  think,  Charles  Kingsley  wrote 
"Westward  Ho!"  in  it,  and  it  is  such  a  quaint  and  beau- 
tiful room,  it  must  have  given  him  inspiration.  You 
see,  the  hotel  used  to  be  the  house  of  a  merchant  prince 
who  was  a  great  importer  of  tobacco  in  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's days;  so  it  is  n't  strange  that  it  should  have  many 
fine  rooms;  but  the  one  where  Kingsley  wrote  is  the  best. 
It 's  sad  that  the  oak  panelling  should  be  ruined  with 
paint  and  varnish;  but  nothing  short  of  an  earthquake 
could  spoil  the  ceiling,  which  is  the  famous  feature. 
The  merchant  prince  hired  two  Italians  to  come  to 
England  and  make  the  wonderful  mouldings  by  hand. 
That  was  long  before  the  days  of  cement,  so  the  fan- 
tastic shapes  had  to  be  fastened  to  each  other  and  the 
ceiling  with  copper  wire.  When  the  skilled  workmen 
had  finished  their  fruits  and  flowers  and  leaves,  and 
all  the  weird  fancies  which  signified  the  evolution  of 
Man,  the  canny  merchant  prince  promptly  packed  the 
Italians  back  again  to  their  native  land,  lest  other  merchant 
princes  should  employ  them  to  repeat  the  marvellous 
ceiling  for  their  houses!  By  this  thoughtful  act,  he 
secured  for  himself  the  one  and  only  specimen  of  the  kind; 
and  to  this  day  nobody  has  ever  been  able  to  copy  it, 
though  the  attempt  has  often  been  made.  The  mar- 
vellous part  is  the  startlingly  high  relief  of  the  mouldings, 
and  the  quaintness  of  the  evolutionary  ideas,  all  those 
centuries  before  Darwin. 


298  SETINSILVER 

It  was  rather  disappointing  to  find  out  that  the  beau- 
tiful ceiling  had  nothing  to  do  with  Charles  Kingsley's 
wish  to  use  the  room  as  a  study.  It  was  in  the  time 
of  the  present  landlord's  grandfather,  who  owned  a  quan- 
tity of  rare  old  books,  records  of  Bideford's  past,  and 
Mr.  Kingsley  wanted  to  refer  to  them.  But  their  owner 
valued  them  too  much  to  lend,  even  to  such  a  man  as 
Charles  Kingsley.  "You  must  come  and  write  in 
the  room,"  said  he.  So  Kingsley  came  and  wrote  in 
the  room,  and  liked  it  and  the  books  so  much  that  he 
gave  a  glowing  account  of  both  to  Froude,  who  presently 
arrived  and  used  the  remarkable  room  for  his  study,  too. 

The  books  are  there  still,  carefully  put  away;  and 
a  portrait  of  the  good  Mayor  of  Westward  Ho !  (the  novel, 
not  its  namesake  town)  which  was  found  in  the  cellar 
with  Vandyck's  name  faintly  traced  on  it,  hangs  oppo- 
site the  fireplace.  The  great  treasure  of  the  room, 
though,  after  the  ceiling,  is  a  letter  from  Kingsley,  framed, 
protected  with  glass,  and  lying  on  a  table. 

Mrs.  Senter  looked  almost  green,  when  she  beheld 
me,  the  picture  of  health  and  joy,  and  saw  on  what  good 
terms  I  was  with  Sir  Lionel.  I  am  certain,  dear,  that 
she  wants  to  marry  him,  and  I  can't  think  she  's  capable 
of  appreciating  such  a  man,  so  it  must  be  for  his  money. 
A  "sportin',  huntin',  don't-you-know  —  what?"  sort  of 
fellow  would  please  her  better,  if  all  else  were  suitable, 
because  she  could  turn  him  round  her  finger;  and  that 
neither  she  nor  anybody  else  can  ever  do  with  Sir  Lionel 
—  though  he  is  pathetically  chivalrous  where  women 
are  concerned,  and  still  more  pathetically  credulous. 

I  remember  so  well  your  reading  "Westward  Ho!" 


SET  IN  SILVER  299 

aloud  to  me  when  I  was  about  ten,  and  had  been  ill. 
I  associate  it  with  the  joy  of  getting  well.  It  made  me 
feel  proud  of  my  Devonshire  ancestors,  even  then,  and 
it  makes  me  more  proud  now,  for  I  've  been  reading 
the  book  for  the  second  time,  in  Kingsley-land.  It 's 
like  the  Bible  almost,  in  Bideford.  I  should  pity  the 
person  who  dared  pick  a  flaw  in  the  story,  in  the  hearing 
of  a  Bideford  man,  woman,  or  child.  Why,  I  believe  even 
a  Bideford  dog  would  understand  the  insult,  and  snap! 
It  's  a  great,  and  rather  original  compliment  to  name 
a  town  in  honour  of  a  book;  but  "Westward  Ho!"  the 
novel,  is  worthy  of  a  finer  namesake.  Of  course,  Rud- 
yard  Kipling  having  been  to  school  in  Westward  Ho! 
makes  the  place  more  interesting  than  it  ever  could 
have  been  of  itself,  in  spite  of  its  glorious  neighbour, 
the  sea.  But  Bideford  is  a  delightful  place.  Dad  used 
to  say  that  no  men  in  the  world  could  beat  the  men 
of  Devon  for  courage;  and  that  Bideford  men  were 
amongst  the  bravest  of  all,  as  you  and  I  would  have 
known  from  "  Westward  Ho ! "  even  if  we  'd  never  read 
history.  It  looks  an  old-world  town,  almost  unspoiled, 
even  now,  with  its  far-famed  bridge  on  twenty-four  arches, 
its  steeply  sloping  streets,  its  quay,  and  its  quaint  pink 
and  green  houses  by  the  river.  In  the  Old  Ship  Tavern 
"The  Brotherhood  of  the  Rose"  was  founded  (you 
remember),  and  Sir  Richard  Grenville  —  dear  Sir 
Richard! —  had  his  house  where  the  Castle  Inn  stands 
now.  I  took  a  long  walk  with  Sir  Lionel  and  (I  am 
sorry  to  say)  Mrs.  Senter,  on  the  Quay  along  the  river- 
side; and  there  are  some  guns  there,  which  they  say 
were  lost  from  the  Spanish  Armada. 


300  SETINSILVER 

While  we  were  walking,  who  should  join  us  but  Dick 
Burden,  back  from  Scotland!  It  appears  that  he 
arrived  at  Tintagel  last  night,  only  a  little  while  after 
Sir  Lionel  and  I  had  left  in  the  car.  He  expected  to 
be  earlier,  but  he  took  cross-country  trains  which  looked 
promising  on  time-tables,  and  missed  connection.  I 
can't  be  thankful  enough  he  did  n't  arrive  before  we 
started,  instead  of  after,  for,  of  course,  Sir  Lionel  would 
have  had  to  ask  him  to  come  with  us,  and  that  would 
have  spoiled  everything.  There  would  have  been  no 
beautiful  "memory  island"  in  my  sea!  Do  you  know, 
I  had  almost  forgotten  Dick  for  two  or  three  days  ? 
He  seemed  to  have  gone  out  of  my  life,  as  if  he  had 
never  been  in,  and  it  was  quite  a  mental  shock  to  meet 
him  on  the  quay  at  Bideford.  He  did  n't  seem  to  be 
in  the  picture  at  all,  whereas  Sir  Lionel  is  always  in  it, 
whatever  or  whenever  it  may  be. 

We  (Sir  Lionel  and  I)  asked  politely  for  his  mother's 
health,  and  he  answered,  apparently  without  thinking, 
"Mother?  — oh,  she's  all  right."  Then  he  evidently 
remembered  that  he  'd  been  sent  for  because  she  was 
ill,  and  had  the  grace  to  look  ashamed  of  his  hard- 
heartedness.  He  explained  that  when  he  arrived,  he 
found  her  already  better,  though  nervous,  and  that  she 
was  "practically  cured."  But  I  saw  him  and  his  aunt 
exchange  a  look.  I  wonder  if  it  meant  that  the  mother 
has  any  weird  sort  of  disease  —  contagious,  perhaps? 
I  do  hope  it  is  n't  anything  I  have  n't  had.  It  would 
be  so  awkward  to  come  down  with  it  now;  though  the 
sight  of  Dick  with  mumps,  for  instance,  would  repay 
me  for  a  good  deal. 


SET  IN  SILVER  301 

Mrs.  Senter's  room  at  Bideford  adjoined  mine,  with 
a  (locked)  door  between;  and  that  night,  for  half  an 
hour  after  I  'd  gone  to  bed  I  heard  a  murmur  of  voices, 
hers  and  Dick's.  They  seemed  to  be  tremendously  in 
earnest  about  something.  Luckily,  I  could  n't  hear  a  word 
they  said;  otherwise  I  should  have  had  the  bother  of 
stopping  my  ears;  but  I  could  n't  help  knowing  that 
there  was  a  heated  argument,  Aunt  Gwen  protesting, 
Nephew  Dick  insisting;  and,  after  stress  and  storm,  a  final 
understanding  arrived  at  which  apparently  satisfied  both 

Such  a  splendid  road  it  was,  going  out  of  Bideford, 
with  views  of  sea  and  river,  the  distant  shore  levels 
indigo,  and  a  fiery  golden  light,  like  spilt  sherry,  on  the 
livid  green  of  the  salt-paled  grass.  The  sails  of  fishing 
boats  from  Instow  rose  from  dark,  ruffled  waters,  white 
as  lily  petals;  and  out  of  heavy  purple  clouds,  poured 
streams  of  flaming  light,  as  if  bags  loaded  with  gold 
dust  had  burst  with  their  own  weight.  Long  sand  flats 
gleamed  red  as  coral  with  some  low-growing  sea  plant; 
and  the  backs  of  wind-blown  leaves  on  bush  and  hedge 
were  all  dull  silver,  under  the  shadows  of  racing  clouds, 
that  tore  at  thousand  horse-power  speed  over  golden 
meadows.  It  was  an  extraordinary,  but  thoroughly  Eng- 
lish effect;  and  is  n't  it  sad,  the  grazing  cows  and  sheep 
we  passed  never  once  looked  up  or  cared! 

But  the  people  —  the  charming  peasants  of  Devon  — 
cared.  They  looked  up,  and  smiled  at  their  sky,  as  if 
it  gave  them  good  thoughts;  and  everyone  on  foot  or 
in  waggon  was  so  polite  to  us,  flashing  such  kind  looks 
from  beautiful  eyes,  that  we  had  the  sensation  of  tasting 
honey.  It  kept  us  busy,  returning  the  bows  of  the 


302  SET  IN  SILVER 

handsome,  courteous  people,  and,  altogether,  it  was 
like  a  royal  progress.  Poor  Apollo  is  n't  used  to  such 
treatment,  out  of  Devonshire  and  Cornwall,  I  can  tell 
you!  He  always  does  his  best  to  be  considerate,  yet 
he  is  often  misunderstood,  being  nothing  but  a  motor- 
car, whom  nobody  loves!  It  was  a  joy  to  see  merry 
Devonshire  children  flinging  themselves  into  our  dust, 
as  if  it  were  perfumed  spray,  and  playing  that  they, 
too,  were  motor-cars.  Such  a  nice  change  after  some 
counties  where  we  had  behaved  beautifully  without 
any  appreciation,  to  feel  that  for  once  we  gave  pleasure 
to  some  one,  as  we  passed  in  and  out  of  their  obscure 
little  lives! 

The  wind  was  laden  with  the  scent  of  honeysuckle, 
and  the  sweet,  yellow  hay,  which  blew  out  of  high-piled 
carts  to  twine  like  gold  webbing  on  flowery  hedges  and 
on  the  crimson  hollyhocks  that  rose  like  straight,  tall 
flames  against  whitewashed  walls. 

Even  the  droves  of  sheep  we  met  were  more  polite 
than  non-Devonshire  sheep,  for  instead  of  blocking 
our  way  obstinately,  keeping  just  in  front  so  that  we 
could  pass  on  neither  side,  they  thoughtfully  charged 
into  village  inns  and  cottage  gardens.  But,  of  course, 
you  can't  expect  pink  sheep  to  act  like  ordinary  mutton- 
hood.  These  Devonshire  creatures  look  exactly  like  a 
lot  of  pink  wool  mats  blowing  away.  Probably  they 
are  "pixie  led,"  for  Devonshire  simply  swarms  with 
pixies.  If  you  are  a  human  being,  and  happen  to  put 
your  stockings  on  wrong  side  out,  they  get  power  over 
you  at  once.  But  I  don't  know  what  the  trick  is,  if 
you  are  a  sheep. 


SET  IN  SILVER  303 

We  ran  above  a  great  ravine  at  Barnstaple,  and  the 
scene  was  so  fine,  that  I  gave  mental  thanks  to  the 
glaciers  which,  in  the  ice  age,  had  so  tastefully  scooped 
out  all  this  down-country  into  graceful  curves  and 
majestic  cliffs.  After  leaving  the  sea  behind  us  we  were 
ringed  in,  swallowed  up  among  lovely,  gracious  hills, 
which  hid  the  world  from  us  —  us  from  the  world.  For 
miles  upon  miles,  a  snake-like  road  writhed  smoothly 
down  the  sides  of  these  hills,  until  at  last,  after  a  wildly 
exhilarating  run  we  found  ourselves  in  a  peaceful  green 
valley.  The  Hobby  Drive  was  no  more  beautiful,  and 
not  half  so  exciting;  but  by  now  we  were  coming  to  the 
Switzerland  of  England.  As  we  sped  on,  great  downs 
rolled  up  behind  us,  and  towered  above  our  heads  like 
the  crests  of  huge  green  waves  at  breaking  point.  Even 
the  sky  suited  itself  to  the  country  here,  forming  bigger, 
more  tumbled  clouds  than  elsewhere;  and  to  my  sur- 
prise I  saw  American  goldenrod,  such  as  I  used  to 
gather  as  a  child,  growing,  quite  at  home,  among  yellow 
ox-eyed  daisies. 

There  was  a  tremendous  hill,  wriggling  down  with 
wicked  twists  to  Lynton,  and  in  the  middle  we  met  a 
car  that  had  torn  off  all  its  tyres.  Sir  Lionel  asked 
if  we  could  do  anything,  but  the  chauffeur  was  so  dis- 
gusted with  life  that,  though  he  snapped  out  "No,  thank 
you,"  his  eyes  said  "Damn!" 

At  Lynton  we  stopped  at  a  hotel  like  an  exaggerated, 
glorified  cottage,  with  a  thatched  roof  and  a  veranda 
running  all  round.  It  stands  in  a  big,  perfumed  garden, 
and  from  the  windows  and  that  quaint  stone-paved 
veranda  you  can  look  over  the  sea  to  the  Welsh  coast, 


304  SET  IN  SILVER 

whence,  at  evening,  two  blazing  eyes  of  light  watch  you 
across  the  blue  water. 

Sir  Lionel  had  meant  to  stay  only  one  night  at  the 
Cottage  Hotel,  but  Lynton  was  beautiful,  with  a  siren 
beauty,  that  would  not  let  us  go.  Even  his  resolution 
was  n't  proof  against  its  witchery.  So  we  stopped  two 
whole  days,  going  "downstairs"  (as  I  called  it)  to  Lyn- 
mouth,  to  see  the  old  Shelley  Cottage  and  lots  of  other 
things.  But  oh,  what  a  road  from  Lynton!  If  a  young 
fly,  when  its  mother  takes  it  for  its  first  walk  down  a 
wall,  feels  as  I  did,  crawling  to  Lynmouth,  both  brakes 
on,  I  pity  it.  I  was  n't  exactly  frightened,  for  I  never 
could  be,  quite,  with  Sir  Lionel  driving,  but  I  was 
prickly  with  awe.  It  was  a  good  thing  Emily  did  n't 
go  with  us.  I  believe  her  poor  little  pin-cushion  heart 
would  have  burst  in  sheer  fright,  and  all  the  sawdust 
would  have  trickled  out.  I  laughed  hysterically,  when 
I  saw  a  motor  garage  at  the  bottom.  It  ought  to  be  a 
motor  hospital,  for  few  cars  can  get  down  unscathed, 
I  should  think.  Afterward,  when  we  were  safely  up 
again,  Sir  Lionel  said  that,  if  he  had  known  what  it  was 
really  like  he  would  n't  have  taken  Mrs.  Senter  and  me 
in  the  car,  but  would  have  had  us  go  in  Sir  George 
Newnes's  lift.  Not  that  he  did  n't  trust  Apollo,  but 
he  confessed  to  being  uncomfortable  for  us.  I  will 
say  that  Mrs.  Senter  behaved  well,  however,  and  never 
emitted  one  squeak,  though  her  complexion  looked  when 
we  arrived  at  Lynmouth  as  if  she  had  been  on  a  tossing 
ship  for  weeks. 

Up  at  Lynton,  the  great  thing  to  do,  is  to  walk  along 
the  edge  of  the  sea  cliff  to  the  Valley  of  Rocks  (a  kind 


SET  IN  SILVER  305 

of  nature  museum  for  statues  and  busts  of  Titans), 
locked  in  between  Castle  Rock  and  the  Devil's  Cheese- 
wring.  It  is  a  startlingly  magnificent  walk,  but  when 
you  are  actually  in  the  Valley  of  Rocks,  it  is  n't  quite 
so  wonderful  as  when  seen  from  a  distance;  the  arena 
itself  is  rather  like  the  backyard  of  the  gods,  where 
they  threw  their  broken  mead-cups.  I  had  a  queer 
feeling  of  having  been  there  before,  which  I  could  n't 
understand  for  a  minute,  until  a  scene  in  "Lorna  Doone" 
flashed  back  to  me.  And  a  young  maid  in  the  hotel 
firmly  believes  that  many  of  the  fantastic  shapes  of 
rock  were  once  people  who  (according  to  an  old  story), 
were  turned  into  stone  for  behaving  irreligiously  on 
Sundays. 

Yesterday  morning  we  said  good-bye  to  Lynton,  and 
Sir  Lionel,  Dick,  Mrs.  Senter,  and  I  walked  to  Waters- 
meet,  Emily  going  along  the  upper  road  in  the  car  with 
Young  Nick,  whose  hand  was  well  enough  to  drive. 
I  don't  know  whether  Dad  ever  talked  to  you  about 
Watersmeet;  but  I  'm  surprised  if  he  did  n't,  because 
not  only  is  it  one  of  the  very  most  beautiful  beauty  spots 
of  Devon,  but  not  far  beyond,  on  the  way  to  Exmoor, 
is  Brendon,  our  name  place. 

You  can  guess  without  my  telling,  why  Watersmeet 
is  called  Watersmeet:  and  it  is  the  most  musical  meeting 
you  can  imagine;  rocks  on  one  side,  a  wooded  hill  on  the 
other,  and  down  below,  the  singing  river.  We  walked 
along  an  exquisite  low-lying  path  from  Watersmeet, 
and  all  about  I  saw  the  name  of  Brendon:  Brendon 
village;  Brendon  forge,  and  other  Brendons.  I  was 
so  excited  that  I  forgot  the  Lethbridge  episode,  and 


306  SET  IN  SILVER 

was  on  the  point  of  exclaiming  to  Sir  Lionel  "How 
interesting  to  come  on  father's  ancestral  home!"  I 
wonder  what  would  have  happened  if  I  had  ?  I  should 
have  had  to  try  and  blunder  out  of  the  scrape  somehow, 
with  Dick's  eyes  on  me,  sparkling  with  mischief,  and 
Mrs.  Senter  critical. 

I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  the  Tyndals  left  us  at  Bide- 
ford,  having  no  excuse  to  cling,  even  if  they  wanted  to, 
because  they  had  "done"  Exmoor  already;  but  since 
the  evening  when  Mrs.  Tyndal  tried  to  pump  me  about 
Venice,  dear  Gwendolen  has  been  restless  and  suspicious. 
She  can't  suspect  the  truth,  of  course,  unless  Dick  has 
told  her,  which  I  'm  sure  he  has  n't  (for  his  own  sake), 
but  she  suspects  something.  She  has  a  common  enough 
mind  to  spring  to  some  horrid  conclusion,  such  as  my 
having  been  secretly  in  Venice  with  objectionable  people. 
Perhaps  she  thinks  me  privately  married !  I  'm  sure 
she  'd  be  delighted  if  that  were  the  truth,  because  then 
Dick  and  Sir  Lionel  would  both  be  safe. 

As  we  walked,  Dick  kept  trying  to  get  me  far  enough 
away  from  the  others  to  tell  me  some  news,  which  he 
hurriedly  whispered  was  important.  But  even  if  I  'd 
wanted  to  give  him  a  chance,  which  I  did  n't,  fate  would 
have  denied  it  to  him. 

At  Rockford  Inn  we  took  to  the  motor  again,  rinding 
Emily  limp  after  what  she  considered  appalling  hills; 
but  I  'm  sure  they  were  nothing  to  the  Lynton-Lynmouth 
one,  as  this  time  Apollo  himself  had  been  sent  down 
in  the  big  lift. 

Now  we  were  coming  to  Doone-land;  and  I  was  all 
eagerness  to  see  it,  because  of  "Lorna  Doone,"  and 


SETINSILVER  307 

because  of  things  I  'd  heard  from  Sir  Lionel,  as  we 
walked  side  by  side  for  a  few  minutes  after  Watersmeet. 
I  had  supposed  that  if  there  were  any  foundation  for 
the  Doone  story,  it  was  as  slight  as  the  "fabric  of  a 
dream";  but  he  told  me  of  a  pamphlet  he  had  read, 
"A  Short  History  of  the  Original  Doones,"  by  a  Miss 
Ida  or  Audrie  Browne,  only  about  eight  or  nine  years 
ago.  She  said  it  was  extraordinary  how  well  the  author 
of  "Lorna"  had  known  all  the  traditions  of  her  family 
—  for  she  was  one  of  the  Doones;  and  that  there  really 
was  a  Sir  Ensor,  a  wild  rebellious  son  of  an  Earl  of 
Moray,  who  travelled  with  his  wife  to  Exmoor,  and 
settled  there,  in  a  rage  because  the  king  would  give 
him  no  redress  against  his  elder  brother. 

"How  does  she  spell  her  name  of  Audrie?"  I  asked, 
trying  to  look  more  good  and  innocent  than  Eve  could 
possibly  have  been  even  in  pre-serpentine  days. 

"A-u-d-r-i-e,"  he  answered,  and  I  trusted  that  Dick 
was  too  far  behind  to  hear  what  we  were  saying.  "That 
was  the  favourite  name  for  girls  in  the  Doone  family," 
Sir  Lionel  went  on.  "Miss  Browne  thinks  Sir  Ensor 
and  his  wife  must  have  crossed  the  Quantocks  coming 
here,  and  have  taken  a  fancy  to  the  name  of  West  Quan- 
toxhead's  patron  saint,  Audrie,  also  spelled  that  way." 

"It 's  rather  a  pretty  name,"  I  ventured,  feeling  pink. 

"One  of  the  prettiest  in  the  world,"  said  Sir  Lionel. 
I  was  pleased  —  though  I  ought  to  have  been  bowed 
down  with  the  burden  of  borrowed  guilt. 

There  was  a  bad  motor  road  from  Oare  to  the  gateway 
of  the  moor,  but  Apollo  did  n't  mind,  though  I  think 
he  was  glad  to  stop  outside  Malmsmead  Farm,  where 


308  SETINSILVER 

we  had  lunch.  I  suppose  you  can't  expect  such  modern 
creatures  as  motors  and  chauffeurs,  especially  Bengali 
ones,  to  appreciate  farmhouses  seven  hundred  years 
old!  I  loved  the  place,  though,  and  so  did  Sir  Lionel. 
Nothing  ever  tasted  better  than  the  rosy  ham,  the  crisp 
cottage  bread,  the  thick  cream,  and  wild  honey  the  farm 
people  gave  us.  And  the  honey  smelt  like  the  moor, 
which  has  just  as  individual  and  haunting  a  fragrance 
as  Dartmoor,  though  different. 

After  lunch  I  wanted  to  see  the  Doone  Valley,  and 
the  ruins  of  the  Doone  houses  (which,  by  the  way,  my 
namesake  Miss  Browne  says  were  not  the  Doone  houses, 
but  only  the  huts  where  the  brigand-band  used  to  keep 
stolen  cattle),  so  Sir  Lionel  said  I  must  have  a  pony. 
I  was  n't  tired,  though  he  thought  I  ought  to  be,  after 
our  walk;  but  the  idea  of  riding  a  rough  Exmoor  pony 
was  great  fun,  and  I  did  n't  object.  Sir  Lionel  asked 
Mrs.  Senter  (who  had  been  making  fun  of  the  Doone 
story  at  lunch)  rather  coolly  if  she  would  care  to  go, 
too;  and  to  his  evident  surprise,  though  not  at  all  to 
mine,  she  instantly  said  she  would. 

They  have  several  ponies  at  the  farm,  and  Sir  Lionel 
hired  two,  he  and  Dick  meaning  to  walk,  and  Emily 
intending  to  stop  in  the  farm  sitting  room  nodding 
over  the  visitors'  book,  full  of  interesting  names,  no  doubt. 

No  sooner  had  our  dear,  roughly  fringed  little  beasts 
been  saddled,  and  we  swung  on  to  their  backs,  than 
there  arose  a  great  hue  and  cry  in  the  farmyard.  The 
stag  hunt  was  passing! 

Such  an  excitement  you  never  saw.  Nobody  would 
have  thought  the  same  thing  had  happened  many  times 


SETINSILVER  309 

a  year,  for  generations.  The  big,  good-natured  farmer 
raced  about,  waving  his  arms,  and  adjuring  us  to 
"Coom  on!"  The  postman  darted  by  on  his  bicycle, 
forgetful  of  letters,  thinking  only  of  the  stag;  pretty 
girls  from  the  neighbouring  Badgeworthy  Farm,  and 
Lorna  Doone  Farm  tore  up  a  hill,  laughing  and  scream- 
ing. "They 'm  found!  They 'm  found!"  yelled  the 
farm  hands.  Everybody  shouted.  Everybody  ran,  or 
at  least  danced  up  and  down;  and  wilder  than  all  was 
the  joy  of  our  Exmoor  ponies,  Mrs.  Senter's  and  mine. 

They  did  n't  intend  to  let  the  hunt  go  by  without 
them,  the  stanch  little  sporting  beasts!  We  hadn't 
the  least  idea  what  they  meant  to  do,  or  perhaps  —  just 
perhaps!  —  we  might  have  stopped  them;  but  before 
Mrs.  Senter  and  I  knew  what  was  happening  to  us, 
off  we  dashed  on  pony-back  after  the  hunt. 

I  laughed  so  much  I  could  hardly  keep  my  seat,  but  I 
did  somehow,  though  not  very  gracefully,  and  in  about 
five  minutes  Sir  Lionel's  long  legs  had  enabled  him  to 
catch  my  little  monster,  which  he  grabbed  by  the  reins 
and  stopped,  before  we  'd  got  mixed  up  with  the  stag- 
hounds.  Dick  was  slower  about  rescuing  his  aunt, 
because  his  legs  are  shorter  than  Sir  Lionel's;  and 
her  pony  had  not  the  pleasant  disposition  of  mine, 
Dick  vowed  afterward  that  it  spit  at  him. 

After  reading  "Lorna"  the  Doone  Valley  looked  rather 
too  gentle,  with  its  grassy  slopes,  to  be  satisfactory  to 
my  brigand-whetted  mind;  and  the  ruins  of  the  Doone 
houses  would  have  been  disappointing,  too,  if  it  had  n't 
been  for  Miss  Audrie  Browne's  tale  of  the  distant  dwell- 
ings, in  the  Weir  Water  Valley;  but  I  liked  hearing 


310  SET  IN  SILVER 

that  all  the  hills  have  names  of  their  own,  and  that  you 
can  be  sure  you  are  not  going  to  fall  into  a  treacherous 
bog,  if  only  you  see  a  sprig  of  purple  heather  —  a  good, 
honest  plant,  which  hates  anything  secret.  Our  ponies 
did  n't  need  the  heather  signal,  though;  they  shied 
away  from  bogs  as  if  by  instinct,  they  knew  the  moor 
so  well.  If  we  had  stumbled  into  a  pitfall,  our  only  hope 
would  have  been  to  lie  quite  flat,  and  crawl  along  the 
surface  with  the  same  motion  that  you  make  in  swim- 
ming. 

It  was  late  afternoon  by  the  time  we  had  seen  all  that 
the  ponies  wanted  us  to  see  of  the  Doone  Valley,  and 
then  our  way  led  us  back  to  Lynmouth,  by  the  appalling 
Countisbury  Hill;  on  to  Parracombe,  Blackmore  Gate, 
Challacombe,  romantic  little  Simonsbath  (sacred  to 
the  memory  of  Sigmund  the  dragon-slayer,  and  two 
outlaws,  of  whom  Tom  Faggus,  of  the  "Strawberry 
horse,"  was  one),  and  pretty,  historic  Exford,  and  so 
to  Dunster.  A  beautiful  road  it  was  to  the  eye,  but  not 
always  to  the  tyre,  and  half  the  hills  of  England  seemed 
to  have  lined  up  in  a  procession.  But  Apollo  smiled 
in  his  bonnet  at  them  all,  and  appeared  rather  pleased 
than  otherwise  to  show  what  he  could  do. 

When  we  came  into  Dunster  it  was  almost  dark  — 
just  the  beautiful  hour  when  the  air  seems  to  have  turned 
blue,  a  deep,  clear  azure;  and  of  all  the  quaintly  pictur- 
esque places  we  have  seen,  I  know  at  first  glimpse  that 
Dunster  would  turn  out  to  be  the  best.  Some  towns, 
like  some  people,  introduce  themselves  to  you  in  a 
friendly,  charming  way,  with  no  chill  reserve,  as  if  they 
were  sure  you  deserved  to  see  their  best  side.  It 's 


SETINSILVER  311 

like  that  with  Dunster,  anyhow  when  you  arrive  in  a 
motor,  and  the  first  thing  you  see  is  the  ancient  Yarn 
Market,  wooden,  octagonal,  perfect.  Then  before  you 
have  recovered  from  the  effect  of  that,  and  the  general 
unspoiledness  of  everything,  you  come  to  the  stone 
porch  of  the  Luttrell  Arms  Inn ;  old  and  grim,  with  open- 
ings for  crossbows  with  which  I  suppose  the  Abbots 
of  Cleve  must  have  had  to  defend  themselves,  because 
the  house  once  belonged  to  them. 

If  you  could  see  no  other  town  but  Dunster,  it  would 
be  worth  while  coming  across  seas  to  England.  But 
I  suppose  I  've  said  that  about  other  places,  haven  't  I  ? 
Well,  I  can  't  help  it  if  I  have.  Dunster  is  absolutely 
perfect  —  not  one  false  note  struck  in  the  quaint  music 
of  its  antiquity. 

Our  sitting  room  was  the  Abbot's  refectory,  splendid 
with  black  oak  beams,  and  a  noble  ceiling.  Its  diamond- 
paned  windows  look  into  a  wonderful  courtyard,  where 
you  expect  to  see  monks  walking,  or  perhaps  cavaliers; 
and  on  the  hill  above  the  garden,  there  are  earthworks 
thrown  up  by  Oliver  Cromwell's  army  during  the  siege 
of  Dunster  Castle  — the  "Alnwick  of  the  West." 
To-morrow,  we  are  to  be  allowed,  as  a  special  favour,  to 
see  the  inside  of  the  Castle  which  towers  up  so  grandly 
against  the  sky.  It  is  n't  open  to  the  public;  but  Sir 
Lionel  knows  some  relatives  of  the  owners,  so  we  are 
to  be  shown  round. 

"To-morrow,"  I  say.  But  if  I  don't  stop  at  once, 
and  go  to  bed,  it  will  be  "to-day." 

Ever  your 

AUDRIE. 


XXV 

FROM  SIR  LIONEL  PENDRAGON  TO  COLONEL 
PATRICK  O'HAGAN 

Swan  Hotel,  Wells,  Aug.  20th 

MY  DEAR  PAT:  What  a  good  fellow  you  are!  Your 
letter,  just  forwarded  here,  has  been  like  for  me  a  draught 
from  the  "cup  which  cheers  but  not "  No,  on  sec- 
ond thoughts  I  can't  go  on  with  the  quotation  "  but  not 
inebriates."  I  rather  think  the  cup  has  inebriated 
me  a  little.  Anyhow,  it  has  made  me  a  bit  conceited. 
I  say  to  myself,  "Well,  if  this  is  his  opinion  of  me,  why 
not  believe  there  's  something  in  it,  and  do  as  other 
men  have  done  before  me  ?  He  ought  to  be  a  judge  of 
men,  and  know  enough  of  women  to  have  some  idea  of 
the  sort  of  person  it  would  be  possible  for  one  of  them 
to  love."  That  is  the  state  of  mind  to  which  you  have 
brought  me,  with  a  little  ink  and  a  little  paper,  and 
plenty  of  good  intentions.  It  would  take  about  a  mag- 
num of  champagne  to  exhilarate  some  men  as  your  praise 
and  your  advice  have  exhilarated  me. 

When  I  wrote  you  last,  I  was  in  the  dumps.  It  was 
a  dull  world,  and  all  the  tigers  I  had  ever  shot  were 
mounted  on  sackcloth,  or  stuffed  with  ashes.  Sounds 
disgusting,  does  n't  it  ?  But  suddenly,  the  sun  broke 
out,  and  dulness  and  tigers  fled  together.  I  suppose 
312 


SET  IN  SILVER  313 

I  must  always  have  been  a  creature  of  moods,  and  did  n't 
know  it ;  for  all  it  took  to  change  gray  Purgatorio  to  blue 
Paradiso  was  a  few  words  from  a  girl.  She  said  she 
did  n't  love  Dick,  and  would  as  soon  marry  my  chauffeur 
—  or  words  to  that  effect.  Explained  everything  — 
or,  if  she  did  n't  explain,  looked  at  me,  and  I  thought 
she  had  explained.  I  forget  now  whether  she  did 
explain  or  not,  rationally  and  satisfactorily,  but  it 
does  n't  matter.  There  is  no  one  like  her,  and  I  have 
reached  a  stage  of  idiocy  concerning  her  which  I  would 
blush  to  describe.  I  see  now  that  the  feeling  which  a 
very  young  man,  hardly  out  of  boyhood,  dignified  with 
the  name  of  love,  is  merely  a  kind  of  foundation  that, 
when  fallen  into  picturesque  ruin,  makes  a  good  firm 
flooring  of  experience  to  build  second,  or  real,  love, 
upon.  I  don't  know  whether  that 's  well  or  badly 
said,  but  it  expresses  my  state  of  mind. 

If  only  this  second  true  love  of  mine  were  not  the 
daughter  of  the  first  and  false! 

Even  now,  when  I  frankly  acknowledge  to  myself 
that  she  can  make  the  light  of  the  world  for  me,  there 
are  black  moments  when  I  distrust  her  —  distrust  my 
impressions  of  her;  and  hate  myself  for  doing  both. 
I  used  to  believe  so  firmly  in  heredity  that  I  can't 
throw  aside  my  old  theories  in  a  moment,  even  for  her 
sake.  How  comes  Ellaline  de  Nesville's  and  Fred 
Lethbridge's  daughter  to  be  what  this  girl  seems  ? 
That 's  what  I  ask  myself;  but  there  again  your  letter 
helps.  You  remind  me  that  "our  parents  are  not  our 
only  ancestors." 

But  enough  of  all  this  rhapsodizing    and    doubting. 


314  SET  IN  SILVER 

There  's  nothing  definite  to  tell  you,  except  that  she 
has  said  she  does  n't  care  for  Dick  Burden,  and  that, 
generally  speaking,  if  appearances  are  against  her, 
I  must  kindly  not  judge  by  them. 

"Give  her  the  benefit  of  the  doubt  as  long  as  you 
can,"  you  say.  But,  thank  heaven  I  can  do  more. 
I  give  her  the  benefit  of  not  doubting  at  all,  except 
in  those  black  moments  I  have  confessed  to  you. 

We  have  had  some  good  road  adventures  together, 
and  she  has  proved  herself  a  thorough  sportswoman, 
as  well  as  a  jewel  of  a  companion;  but,  of  course,  I 
have  n't  had  her  often  to  myself.  Mrs.  Senter  and 
Dick  Burden  are  still  of  the  party,  and  say  nothing 
about  future  plans,  though  there  was  a  vague  under- 
standing when  they  first  came  that  they  were  asked 
for  a  fortnight.  They  seem  to  be  enjoying  themselves, 
so  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be  pleased;  and  Mrs.  Senter 
is  agreeable  to  everybody,  though  sometimes  it  has 
occurred  to  me  that  she  and  Ellaline  don't  hit  it  off 
invariably.  Still,  I  may  be  mistaken.  She  praises 
Ellaline,  and  seems  anxious  to  throw  her  into  Dick's 
society,  which  presumably  she  would  n't  do  if  she  did  n't 
like  the  girl. 

Dick  did  run  up  to  Scotland  to  see  his  mother  for  a 
few  days,  and  I  thought,  as  Mrs.  Burden  sent  for  him 
on  account  of  her  health,  he  might  have  to  stay  on. 
But  no  such  luck.  He  was  back  almost  indecently 
soon  —  pounced  down  upon  us  at  Bideford,  just  in  time, 
perhaps,  to  prevent  my  taking  your  advice  before  I  got  it. 

The  fact  is,  there  was  a  queer  misunderstanding 
with  which  I  won't  bore  you,  but  by  which  Ellaline  was 


SET  IN  SILVER  315 

left  behind  at  Tintagel,  and  I  went  back  alone  to  fetch 
her,  with  the  car.  She  was  adorable,  even  unusually 
adorable,  and  I  loved  her  horribly.  Yes,  that 's  the 
only  word  for  it,  because  it  hurt;  it  hurt  so  much  that 
next  day  I  felt  I  could  n't  go  on  bearing  the  pain,  and 
that  I  should  have  to  find  a  chance  to  tell  her.  I  was 
pretty  sure  she  would  think  me  a  middle-aged  and 
several  other  kinds  of  a  fool,  even  though  she  were  polite 
in  words;  nevertheless,  I  might  have  run  the  risk,  even 
unspurred  by  your  letter,  if  Dick  had  n't  come  back 
looking  extremely  young  and  attractively  impertinent. 
She  mayn't  care  a  rap  for  him;  she  says  she  doesn't, 
so  I  suppose  she  knows  her  own  mind;  still,  the  contrast 
between  our  years  is  in  his  favour,  and  with  him  under 
my  nose  as  well  as  continuously  underfoot,  I  see 
myself  as  (I  fear)  others  see  me.  Yet  I  may  not  be  able 
to  keep  my  head  if  a  chance  should  come.  And  if  I 
lose  it  —  my  head,  I  mean  —  that 's  the  time  to  take 
your  advice. 

We  have  been  seeing  some  fine  country  of  late ;  Dunster 
was  one  of  the  best  bits,  also  grand  old  Luttrell  Castle, 
which,  by  the  way,  is  Hardy's  Stancy  Castle  in  "The 
Laodicean."  There  are  some  rare  old  buildings  in  Dunster 
which  reek  history.  The  church  has  a  noble  rood  screen; 
and  the  Yarn  Market  is  unique  in  England;  so  is  the 
queer  old  "Nunnery,"  so-called,  and  the  ancient  inn 
where  we  stayed. 

Cleve  Abbey  is  only  a  few  miles  away,  and  I  was 
surprised  at  the  magnificence  of  the  ruin,  which  was  used 
as  a  farmhouse  for  years,  and  would  be  thus  degraded 
still  if  it  were  n't  for  Mr.  Luttrell,  the  owner  of  Dun- 


316  SET  IN  SILVER 

ster  Castle,  who  has  bought  and  restored  it.  Cistercian, 
and  as  old  as  the  tenth  century,  with  a  gatehouse  of 
Richard  the  Second's  day;  bits  of  exquisite  encaustic 
tiling  from  the  demolished  church,  preserved  religiously 
under  glass;  and  a  refectory  roof  to  enchant  artists  and 
archaeologists  —  beautiful  hammer-beams  and  carved 
angels  of  Spanish  walnut  wood,  fifteenth  century,  I 
think;  and  some  shadowy  ghosts  of  frescoes. 

Ellaline  was  enchanted  with  the  old  custodian,  who 
talked  much  about  "heart  of  oak,"  and  when  she  ven- 
tured to  remark  that  he  "looked  as  if  he  were  made  of 
it,"  she  and  the  old  fellow  himself  both  blushed  amusingly. 

We  came  on  through  pretty,  respectable-looking 
Williton,  where  lived  Reginald  Fitz  TJrse  who  helped 
murder  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury,  and  where  every- 
thing is  extraordinarily  ancient  except  the  motor  garage. 

By  this  we  were  among  the  Quantock  Hills;  and  the 
differences  between  Devonshire  and  Somerset  scenery 
were  beginning  to  be  very  marked.  It 's  difficult  to  define 
such  differences;  but  they  're  visible  in  every  feature; 
the  shape  of  the  downs;  the  trees,  standing  up  tall  and 
isolated  in  "Zummerzet,"  like  landmarks;  even  the 
conformation  of  roads  —  which,  by  the  way,  are  ex- 
tremely good  in  these  regions,  a  pleasant  change  for 
the  car  after  some  of  her  wild  hill-climbing  and  tobog- 
ganning  feats  in  North  Devon. 

Do  you  remember  how,  when  we  were  boys,  we  discussed 
favourite  names,  and  placed  Audrey  high  in  the  list 
among  those  of  women?  Here,  in  the  Quantock  Hills, 
they  spell  it  "Audrie,"  for  the  saint  who  patronizes 
West  Quantoxhead;  and  I  have  learned  that  it  was 


SET  IN  SILVER  317 

the  name  which  the  outlawed  Doone  tribe  best  loved 
to  give  their  girl  children.  I  think  I  used  to  say  I  should 
like  to  marry  a  girl  named  Audrey,  but  never  heard  of 
such  a  person  in  real  life,  until  Ellaline  informed  me, 
on  seeing  St.  Audrie's,  that  it 's  the  name  of  her  most 
intimate  friend.  I  responded  by  confessing  my  boyish 
resolve,  and  to  amuse  myself,  asked  if  she  would  some 
day  introduce  me  to  her  friend.  "Not  for  the  world!" 
said  she,  and  blushed.  I  wish  I  could  make  myself 
believe  her  jealous.  You  would  probably  encourage  me 
to  think  it! 

Wordsworth  loved  the  pleasant  region  of  the  Quantock 
hills,  you  know,  and  wrote  some  charming  poems  while 
he  and  Coleridge  lived  at  Nether  Stowey  and  Alforden; 
but  just  to  see,  in  passing,  Nether  Stowey  looks  unat- 
tractive; and  as  for  Bridgewater,  not  much  farther 
on  (where  a  red  road  has  turned  pink,  then  pale,  then 
white  with  chalk),  it  is  as  commercial  to  look  at  as  it  is 
historical  to  read  of.  When  a  boy,  in  bloodthirsty 
moods,  I  used  to  pore  over  that  history;  read  how  Judge 
Jeffreys  lodged  at  Bridgewater  during  the  Bloody  As- 
sizes (the  house  is  gone  now,  washed  away  like  an  old 
blood  stain) ;  how  the  moor  between  Weston  and  Bridge- 
water  (in  these  days  lined  with  motors)  was  lined  with 
Feversham's  gibbets  after  Sedgemoor.  Does  n't  Macaulay 
refer  to  that  as  "the  last  fight  deserving  the  name  of 
battle,  fought  on  English  soil"?  Then  there  was  the 
story  of  "S wayne's  Jumps,"  which  one  connected  with 
Bridgewater.  He  made  his  famous  escape  in  Toxley 
Wood,  close  by,  and  to  this  day  the  place  is  marked 
with  three  stones.  That  sort  of  thing  rushes  you  back 


318  SET  IN  SILVER 

in  a  minute  over  long  distances  in  time,  does  n't  it  ?  — 
as  motors  rush  you  forward  in  a  minute  over  long  distances 
of  space. 

So  to  Glastonbury,  by  way  of  Poland  Hill,  looking 
down  over  the  Sedgemoor  plain,  Chedzoy  Church,  on 
whose  southern  buttress  the  battle  axes  were  sharpened* 
and  Weston  Zoyland,  with  its  Dutch-sounding  name, 
and  Dutch-looking  dykes. 

I  never  saw  Glastonbury  until  now,  and  I  'm  not  sure 
that,  having  seen  it,  I  shan't  be  obliged  to  hook  it  on  top 
of  Winchester,  on  my  bump  of  reverence.  Not  that 
one  can  compare  its  ruined  grandeur  with  well-pre- 
served Winchester,  the  comparison  lies  in  the  oldness 
and  the  early  beginnings  of  religion.  I  believe  Glaston- 
bury is  the  one  religious  institution  in  which  Briton, 
Saxon,  and  Norman  all  share  and  share  alike;  so  the  place 
seems  to  bind  our  race  to  a  race  supplanted.  St.  Dun- 
stan  is  the  "great  man"  of  the  place,  because  he  it  was 
who  restored  the  monastery  after  Danish  wars;  but  he 
is  a  modern  celebrity  beside  Joseph  of  Arimathea,  the 
founder,  who  came  with  eleven  companions  to  bring 
the  Holy  Word  to  Britain.  It  was  the  Archangel  Gabriel 
who  bade  him  found  a  church  in  honour  of  the  Virgin ; 
and  it  was  a  real  inspiration  of  the  archangel's; 
for  what  one  can  see  of  the  chapel  of  St.  Joseph  is  abso- 
lutely perfect  —  a  gem  of  beauty. 

We  came  to  Glastonbury  in  the  afternoon,  having 
lunched  at  a  nice  old  coaching  house  in  Bridgewater, 
and  after  pausing  for  a  look  at  the  Abbot's  kitchen,  I 
drove  straight  to  the  George,  which  I  had  heard  of  as 
being  the  Pilgrim's  Inn  of  ancient  times,  and  the  best 


SET  IN  SILVER  319 

bit  of  domestic  architecture  in  the  town.  The  idea  was 
to  have  tea  there  —  an  indulgence  for  which  Emily 
clamoured,  being  half  choked  with  chalky  dust;  but  the 
house  was  so  singularly  beautiful  and  interesting  that  it 
seemed  a  crime  not  to  sleep  in  it.  The  front  is  a  gorgeous 
mass  of  carved  panelling;  in  the  middle  rises  a  four- 
centred  gateway,  and  on  the  left  is  a  marvel  of  a  bow 
window,  with  a  bay  for  every  story.  We  went  up  a  newel 
stairway  to  look  at  rooms,  and  one  in  which  Henry 
VIII.  slept  a  night  fell  to  my  share  —  not  because  I  was 
selfishly  ready  to  take  the  best,  however,  for  there  were 
several  others  more  curious,  if  not  more  interesting. 

Our  quarters  for  the  night  selected,  we  went  out  sight- 
seeing, on  foot,  first  taking  the  Abbey  and  Chapel  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  corruptly  known  as  St.  Joseph's.  It 's 
a  good  thing,  Pat,  that  you  did  n't  get  your  youthful 
way,  and  annex  Emily,  because  you  have,  or  had,  a 
"strong  weakness"  for  ruins,  and  she  doesn't  appre- 
ciate them  in  any  form.  The  difference  between  her 
expression  and  Ellaline's  while  gazing  at  what  is  left 
of  Glastonbury's  glory  was  a  study.  Emily's  bored, 
yet  conscientiously  desiring  to  be  interested;  the  girl's 
rapt,  radiant.  And,  indeed,  these  remnants  of  beauty 
are  pathetically  fair  enough  to  draw  tears  to  such  young 
eyes  as  hers.  They  are  even  more  majestic  in  ruin  than 
they  could  have  been  in  noblest  prime,  I  think,  because 
those  broken  arches  have  the  splendour  of  classic  tragedy. 
They  are  like  a  poem  of  which  a  few  immortal  lines 
are  lost. 

In  the  warm  light  of  the  August  afternoon  the  old 
stones,  pillars,  and  arches  of  Glastonbury  Abbey  seemed 


320  SET  IN  SILVER 

to  be  carved  in  stained  ivory,  a  has  relief  on  lapis  lazuli. 
We  lingered  until  our  pretty  Mrs.  Senter  got  the  look 
in  her  eyes  of  one  who  has  stood  too  long  in  high-heeled 
boots,  and  Emily  asked  plaintively  whether  we  were 
not  going  to  see  the  Glastonbury  Thorn.  It  appeared 
that  she  had  promised  to  write  her  tame  parson  about 
it,  and  send  him  a  sprig  for  planting;  and  she  was  much 
disappointed  when  she  heard  that  the  "original  thorn," 
Joseph  of  Arimathea's  blossoming  staff,  had  been  de- 
stroyed centuries  ago  on  Weary-All  Hill,  where  the 
saintly  band  rested  on  the  way  to  Glastonbury.  One 
trunk  of  the  famous  tree  was  hewed  down  by  a  Puritan 
1n  Elizabeth's  day  (I  'm  happy  to  tell  you  he  lost  a  leg 
and  an  eye  in  the  act),  while  the  second  and  only  remain- 
ing one  was  destroyed  by  a  "military  saint"  in  the  great 
rebellion.  "What  disagreeable  things  saints  have  done!" 
exclaimed  Ellaline,  which  shocked  Emily.  "There  have 
been  very  few  military  ones,  anyhow,"  my  sister  returned, 
mildly,  with  a  slightly  reproachful  glance  at  me,  aimed 
at  my  spiritual  failures.  I  cheered  her  up  by  promising 
that  I  would  get  her  a  sprig  of  thorn  at  Wells,  and  telling 
her  how  all  the  transplanted  slips  have  the  habit  of 
blossoming  on  Christmas  Day,  old  style  —  January  6th, 
isn't  it? 

Our  next  "sight"  was  the  museum  in  the  Market 
Place;  and  you  may  take  my  word  for  it,  Pat,  there  's 
nothing  much  more  interesting  to  be  found  the  world 
over,  if  you  're  interested  in  antiquities,  as  you  and  I 
are.  There  's  the  Alfred  jewel,  which,  of  course,  the 
women  liked  best;  and  next  in  their  estimation  came 
the  bronze  mirrors,  the  queer  pins  and  big  needles,  the 


SET  IN  SILVER  321 

rouge  pots  and  the  hair  curlers  (which  Emily  gravely 
pronounced  to  be  curiously  like  Hinde's)  of  the  Celtic 
beauties  who  lived  before  the  visits  of  those  clever  com- 
mercial travellers,  the  Phoenicians.  These  relics  were 
taken  from  the  prehistoric  village  at  Godnet  Marsh, 
discovered  only  about  sixteen  years  ago,  and  they  were 
found  with  others  far  more  important;  for  instance,  a 
big,  clumsy  canoe  of  black  oak,  which  was  soft  as  soap 
when  it  first  came  up  out  of  its  hiding-place  in  the  thick 
peat  bog,  but  was  hardened  afterward  by  various  scien- 
tific tricks.  I  confess  to  more  interest  in  the  dice  boxes 
and  dice,  some  of  which  the  sly  old  Celtic  foxes  had 
loaded.  Cheating  is  n't  precisely  a  modern  device,  it 
seems! 

After  the  museum,  I  took  the  party  to  a  jeweller's  I  'd 
heard  of,  and  bought  some  copies  of  the  sacred  treasures : 
a  replica  of  the  Alfred  jewel;  a  silver  bowl,  exactly  imi- 
tating a  bronze  one  from  the  lake  village  —  probably 
of  Greek  manufacture,  brought  over  by  Phoenicians  — 
and  other  quaint  and  interesting  things.  Ellaline  is 
to  have  the  jewel;  the  silver  bowl  is  to  be  a  "sop"  to  Mrs. 
Senter;  and  for  Emily  is  a  tiny  model  oven,  such  as  the 
Phoenicians  taught  the  Celts  to  make  and  Cornish 
cottagers  bake  their  bread  in  to  this  day. 

There  was  the  old  Red  Lion  Inn  to  see,  too,  where 
Abbot  Whiting  lay  the  night  before  his  execution,  which 
was  a  murder;  and  the  Women's  Almshouses,  and  a 
dozen  other  things  which  tourists  are  expected  to  see 
besides  many  dozen  which  they  are  not;  and  it  is  for 
the  latter  that  Ellaline  and  I  have  a  predilection.  She 
and  I  are  also  fond  of  believing  any  story  which  is  inter- 


322  SET    IN  SILVER 

esting,  therefore  we  are  both  invaluable  victims  to  the 
custodians  of  museums  and  other  show  places.  The 
nice  old  fellow  in  the  Glastonbury  museum  was  delighted 
with  our  faith,  which  would  not  only  have  moved  moun- 
tains, but  transported  to  such  mountains  any  historic 
celebrity  necessary  to  impress  the  picture.  We  believed 
in  the  burying  of  the  original  Chalice,  from  which  to 
this  hour  flows  a  pure  spring,  the  Holy,  or  Blood  Spring. 
We  believe  that  St.  Patrick  was  born,  and  died  on  the 
Isle  of  Avalon;  and  more  firmly  than  all,  that  both  Arthur 
and  Guinevere  were  buried  under  St.  Mary's  (or  St. 
Joseph's)  Chapel.  Why,  did  n't  the  custodian  point 
out  to  us,  in  the  picture  of  an  ancient  plan  of  the  chapel, 
the  actual  spot  where  their  bodies  lay?  What  could 
we  ask  more  than  that?  But  if  we  go  to  Scotland  next 
year,  we  shall  doubtless  believe  just  as  firmly  that  Arthur 
rests  there,  in  spite  of  the  record  at  Glastonbury,  in 
spite  even  of  Tennyson: 

".     .     .     the  island  valley  of  Aviloh; 
Where  falls  not  hail,  or  rain,  or  any  snow, 
Nor  ever  wind  blows  loudly;  but  it  lies 
Deep-meadow'd,  happy,  fair  with  orchard-lawns 
And  bowery  hollows  crown 'd  with  summer  sea, 
Where  I  will  heal  me  of  my  grievous  wound." 

Does  that  come  back  to  you,  from  Arthur's  speech  to 
Bedevere  ?  but  he  died  of  the  "grievous  wound"  after 
all;  and  the  custodian  goes  so  far  as  to  assert,  solemnly, 
that  when  the  coffins  were  opened  in  the  days  of  Henry 
II.  the  bodies  of  the  king  and  queen  were  "very  beauti- 
ful to  see,  for  a  moment,  untouched  by  time;  but  that 


SET  IN  SILVER  323 

in  a  second,  as  the  people  looked,  their  dust  crumbled 
away,  all  except  the  splendid  golden  hair  of  Guinevere, 
which  remained  to  tell  of  her  glory,  for  many  a  long 
year,  until  it  was  stolen,  and  disappeared  forever." 

That  is  a  good  story,  anyhow,  and  adds  to  the  curious, 
almost  magical  enchantment  of  Glastonbury.  Ellaline 
says  that  the  very  name  of  Glastonbury  will  after  this 
ring  in  her  ears  like  the  sound  of  fairy  bells,  chiming 
over  the  lost  lake  that  ringed  the  Isle  of  Avalon.  You 
know,  I  dare  say,  that  Glastonbury  is  supposed  to  have 
its  derivation  from  British  "Ynyswytryn,"  "Inis  vitrea," 
the  "Island  of  Glass,"  because  the  water  surrounding 
it  was  blue  and  clear  as  crystal.  So  many  golden  apples 
grew  in  the  island  orchards,  that  it  became  also  the  Isle 
of  Avalon,  from  "Avalla"  an  apple. 

Even  now,  the  queer  conical,  isolated  hills  of  the 
neighbourhood  are  called  islands,  and  it  is  easy  to  picture 
Glastonbury  as  an  isle  rising  among  lesser  ones  out  of  a 
bright,  azure  estuary  stretching  away  and  away  to  the 
Bristol  Channel.  The  Saxon  king,  Edgar,  whose 
royal  castle  has  given  the  name  to  the  town  of  Edgarly, 
must  have  had  a  fine  view  in  his  day.  And  now  you 
have  only  to  go  up  Tor  Hill  (a  landmark  for  miles  round, 
with  its  tower  of  St.  Michael  on  top  like  the  watch-dog 
of  a  dead  king)  to  see  Wells  Cathedral  to  the  north, 
the  blue  Mendips  east  and  west,  and  cutting  the  range, 
a  mysterious  break,  like  a  door,  which  means  the  wild 
pass  of  Cheddar;  far  in  the  west,  a  gleam  of  the  Bristol 
Channel;  south,  the  Polden  Hills,  the  Dorset  heights 
beyond,  and  the  Quantocks  overtopped  by  the .  peak 
of  Dunkery  Beacon.  I  think  one  would  have  to  go 


324  SET  IN  SILVER 

far  to  see  more  of  England  in  one  sweep  of  the  eye. 
Indeed,  foreigners  might  come,  make  a  hasty  ascent  of 
Tor  Hill,  and  take  the  next  boat  back  to  their  own 
country,  telling  their  friends  not  untruthfully  that  they 
had  "seen  England." 

At  night,  in  the  room  of  Henry  VIII.,  I  dreamed  I  saw 
Anne  Boleyn,  with  Ellaline's  face,  which  smiled  at  me, 
the  lips  saying:  "I  '11  forgive  you,  if  you  '11  forgive  me." 
I  hope  that  's  a  good  omen  ? 

We  gave  ourselves  twenty-four  hours  in  Glastonbury 
and  the  neighbourhood,  running  out  to  the  prehistoric 
village  at  Godney  Marsh,  to  see  the  excavations,  and  to 
Meare  (by  the  by,  the  very  causeway  over  which  our 
motor  spun  was  built  of  stones  from  the  Abbey!)  then 
on,  toward  evening,  to  Wells.  There  have  been  sur- 
prisingly blue  evenings  lately,  to  which  Ellaline  has 
drawn  my  attention;  and  her  simile  on  the  way  to  Wells, 
that  we  seemed  to  be  driving  through  a  pelting  rain  of 
violets,  I  thought  rather  pretty.  What  shall  I  do,  I 
wonder,  if  I  have  to  part  with  her  —  give  her  to  some 
other  man,  perhaps?  It  hardly  bears  thinking  of. 
And  yet  it  may  easily  happen.  It  seems  to  me  that 
every  man  who  sees  her  must  want  her;  and  the  feeling 
does  n't  make  for  peace  or  comfort.  I  suppose  I  might 
be  different,  and  less  the  brute,  if  I  had  n't  lived  so  long 
in  the  East,  growing  used  to  Eastern  customs;  but  as  it 
is,  when  I  see  some  man's  eyes  light  upon  her  face  and 
rest  there  in  surprised  admiration,  I  want  to  snatch  her 
up,  wrap  her  in  a  veil,  and  run  off  with  her  in  my  arms. 
Beastly,  is  n't  it  ?  I  have  no  such  feeling,  however,  in 
connection  with  Mrs.  Senter,  although  she  is  very 


SET  IN  SILVER  325 

striking,  and  excites  a  good  deal  of  attention  wherever 
we  eo. 

I  haven't  seen  Emily  so  happy  since  we  have  been 
motoring  as  she  is  at  Wells,  and  it  seems  almost  criminal 
to  tear  her  away,  though  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  do  so 
to-morrow.  She  says  that,  except  at  home,  she  has 
never  felt  such  "an  air  of  religious  calm"  as  at  Wells; 
and  there  's  something  in  the  feeling  which  I  can  under- 
stand, though  I  must  admit  I  don't  go  about  the  world 
searching  for  religious  calm. 

Certainly  one  can't  imagine  a  crime  being  committed  at 
Wells,  and  a  wicked  thought  would  be  rather  wickeder 
here  than  elsewhere.  Not  that  the  Cathedral  is  to 
me  alluringly  beautiful  (I  believe  it  ranks  high,  and 
is  even  exalted  as  the  "best  secular  church"  to  be 
found  the  world  over,  the  west  front  being  glorified 
as  a  masterpiece  beyond  all  others  in  England) ;  at  first 
sight  it  vaguely  disappointed  me.  I  am  no  expert  judge 
of  architecture,  and  don't  pretend  to  be;  still,  I  dare 
to  have  my  likes  and  dislikes;  and  it  was  not  until  I  'd 
walked  round  the  cathedral  many  times,  stood  and  stared 
at  it,  and  gone  up  heights  to  survey  it  from  different 
points  of  view,  that  I  began  to  warm  toward  it  mightily. 
Now,  I  find  it  eminently  noble,  yet  not  so  lovable  as 
some  which  my  memory  cherishes,  some  not  perhaps 
as  architecturally  or  artistically  perfect.  But  you  know 
what  individuality  buildings  have,  especially  those 
which  are  vast  and  dominating;  and  Wells  is  unique. 
As  the  common  people  say,  it  "wants  knowing." 

Emily,  usually  sparing  of  adjectives,  pronounces  the 
Lady  Chapel  "a  dream,"  and  I  don't  think  she  exag- 


326  SETINSILVER 

gerates;  but  for  myself,  the  things  least  forgettable 
in  the  Cathedral  will  be  the  Chapter  House  Stairs 
and  the  beautiful  fourteenth  century  glass.  The 
ascent  of  the  staircase  is  an  exquisite  experience,  and, 
as  Ellaline  cried  out  in  her  joy,  "it  must  be  like  going 
up  a  snow  mountain  by  moonlight."  The  old  clock 
in  the  transept,  too,  holds  one  hypnotized,  waiting  always 
to  see  what  will  happen  next.  Peter  Lightfoot,  the 
Glastonbury  monk,  who  made  it  in  the  fourteenth 
century,  must  have  had  a  lively  imagination,  and  have 
loved  excitement  — "  something  doing,"  as  Americans 
say.  Ellaline  and  I  are  overcome  with  sympathy  for 
one  of  four  desperately  fighting  knights  who  never  gets 
the  colours.  Hard  luck  to  work  like  that  for  hundreds 
of  years,  and  never  succeeed! 

At  last  Emily  has  seen  the  Glastonbury  Thorn,  and 
obtained  her  slip,  as  an  exceptional  favour.  She  longs 
for  Christmas  to  come,  to  know  if  it  will  bloom,  as  it 
does  regularly  every  year  in  the  gardens  of  the  Bishop's 
palace. 

Until  now  I  could  n't  have  imagined  envying  a  bishop, 
but  to  live  in  the  palace  at  Wells,  and  own  the  palace 
gardens  for  life,  would  be  worth  a  few  sacrifices.  I 
should  think  there  could  have  been  never  a  more 
poetical  or  charming  garden  on  earth— not  excepting 
Eden  or  a  few  Indian  gardens  I  have  admired.  It 
is  perfect;  as  Ellaline  says,  even  pluperfect,  in  its  contrast 
with  the  gray  ruins,  and  the  mellow,  ancient  house. 
There  is  an  embattled  wall,  which  makes  a  terrace 
walk,  above  the  fair  lawns  and  jewelled  flower  beds, 
and  from  the  top  as  you  walk,  the  hills  girdling  the  old 


SET  IN  SILVER  327 

city  go  waving  in  gradations  of  blue  to  an  opal  horizon. 
There  's  an  old  Well  House  in  the  garden,  which  is  one 
of  its  chief  ornaments,  and  has  adorned  it  since  the 
fifteenth  century.  Bishop  Beckington  —  the  Becking- 
ton  of  the  punning  rebus  (Beacon  and  Tun)  built  it  to 
supply  water  to  the  city.  But  there  were  plenty  of  other 
springs,  always  —  seven  famous  ones  —  which  sug- 
gested the  name,  Wells;  and  had  they  not  existed,  perhaps 
King  Ina  (who  flourished  in  the  eighth  century,  and 
was  mixed  up  in  Glastonbury  history)  would  not  have 
founded  a  cathedral  here.  Blessed  be  the  seven  wells, 
then,  for  without  them  one  of  the  fairest  places  in  Eng- 
land might  never  have  existed. 

I  had  heard  of  the  celebrated  swans,  and  as  I  knew 
she  would  like  them,  I  determined  to  pay  the  birds  a 
morning  call  (the  day  after  we  arrived)  with  Ellaline. 
From  any  obtrusion  of  Emily's  I  felt  safe,  for  her  mind 
whirls  here  with  old  oak  carvings,  Flaxman  sculptures, 
ancient  vestments,  carven  tombs,  and,  above  all,  choral 
services.  Indeed,  Emily  is  never  at  her  best  except  in 
a  cathedral;  and  I  knew  that  swans  would  not  be  eccle- 
siastic enough  to  please  her.  But  of  Mrs.  Senter  and 
Dick  I  had  to  be  more  wary;  for  the  lady,  no  doubt 
because  she  is  my  guest,  feels  it  polite  to  give  me  a  good 
deal  of  her  society;  and  Dick  naturally  considers  that 
Ellaline 's  time  is  wasted  on  me,  especially  when  he 
is  n't  by  to  alleviate  the  boredom. 

My  one  chance  was  to  lure  the  girl  out  early,  for 
neither  Mrs.  Senter  nor  Burden  loves  the  first  morning 
hours.  With  all  the  guilty  tremors  of  one  who  cooks 
an  intrigue,  I  sent  a  note  to  Ellaline's  room,  just  after 


328  SET  IN  SILVER 

she  had  gone  to  bed,  asking  if  she  were  "sporting 
enough"  to  come  for  a  walk  at  seven-thirty.  I  thought 
that  way  of  putting  the  invitation  would  fetch  her, 
and  it  did;  but  perhaps  a  card  I  enclosed  had  something 
to  do  with  her  prompt  acceptance.  I  printed,  in  my 
best  imitation  of  engraved  text,  "Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swan 
and  the  Misses  Cygnet,  At  Home,  In  the  Moat,  Bishop's 
Palace.  Ring  for  Refreshments.  R.S.V.P." 

Five  minutes  later  came  down  a  scrap  of  paper  (all 
she  had,  no  doubt)  with  a  little  pencil  scrawl,  saying 
that  Miss  Lethbridge  was  delighted  to  accept  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Swan's  kind  invitation  for  seven-thirty,  and  thanked 
Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  for  obtaining  it.  I  have  put  this 
away  with  my  treasures,  of  course. 

I  was  at  the  place  appointed  before  the  time,  and 
she  did  n't  keep  me  waiting.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  's 
always  extraordinarily  prompt.  Modern  school  training, 
I  suppose,  as  Ellaline  the  First  was  never  known  to  be 
in  time  for  anything.  And  the  swans  were  worth  getting 
up  for.  They  are  magnificent  creatures;  but,  unlike 
many  professional  beauties,  they  're  as  clever  as  they 
are  handsome.  For  generations  they  and  their  ancestors 
have  been  trained  to  ring  a  bell  when  they  breakfast; 
and  to  see  the  whole  family,  mother,  babies,  and  cousins, 
breasting  the  clear,  lilied  water,  and  waiting  in  a  dig- 
nified, not  too  eager,  row  while  father  pulls  a  bell  in 
the  old  palace  wall,  tweaking  the  string  impatiently  with 
his  beak,  is  better  than  any  theatrical  performance  of 
this  season  in  London. 

Ellaline  was  entranced,  and  would  have  the  play 
played  over  and  over  again  by  the  swan  actors  and  the 


SET  IN  SILVER  329 

stage  manageress,  a  kindly  and  polite  woman  who  con- 
ducted the  entertainment.  When  we  were  both  ashamed 
to  beg  for  more,  Ellaline  suggested  a  walk  round  the 
town,  which  is  of  an  unspoiled  beauty,  and  you  can 
guess  whether  or  no  I  was  glad  to  be  her  guide.  I  'm  cer- 
tain I  should  have  proposed  before  breakfast  (I  wonder  if 
any  other  man  was  ever  in  love  enough  for  that?)  if 
Dick  Burden  and  his  aunt  had  n't  turned  a  corner  at 
the  critical  moment.  But  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well. 
In  spite  of  what  you  say,  I  am  certain  she  would  have 
refused  me. 

Nevertheless,  for  your  encouragement,  my  dear  old 
Pat,  I  am 

Yours  ever  gratefully, 

PEN. 


XXVI 

MRS.  SENTER  TO  HER  SISTER,  MRS.  BURDEN 

Empire  Hotel,  Bath, 

August  Without  End,  Amen/ 

MY  DEAR  Sis:  Talk  about  a  land  where  it  is  always 
afternoon!  Seems  to  me  it  will  never  stop  being  August. 
I  'm  dead  sick  of  motoring  in  present  company,  and  so 
furious  with  Sir  Lionel  that  the  only  revenge  I  can  think 
of  is  to  marry  him.  Would  that  I  could  say,  "  Vengeance 
is  mine  " ;  but  it 's  still  a  bird  in  the  bush,  I  regret  to  say, 
while  in  my  hand  is  nothing  save  the  salt  which  I  'm 
trying  to  sprinkle  on  its  tail. 

Curious  feeling  one  has  on  a  motor  tour.  I  have  the 
sensation  of  being  detached  from  my  own  past  (good 
thing  that,  for  some  ladies  of  our  acquaintance!)  like 
a  hook  that 's  come  out  of  its  eye.  The  hook,  however, 
is  quite  ready  to  fit  into  any  new  eye  that  happens  to 
be  handy,  or  dig  out  any  eye  that  happens  to  be  in  the 
way.  And  that  brings  me  back  to  Mademoiselle  Leth- 
bridge.  It  really  can't  be  good  for  one's  liver  to  dislike 
anyone  as  much  as  I  have  grown  to  dislike  that  girl; 
but  unfortunately  I  can't  afford  to  despise  her.  She 
is  clever;  almost  too  clever,  for  cherished,  protected, 
schoolgirl  nineteen.  Would  that  I  could  find  a  screw 
loose  in  her  history!  Wouldn't  I  make  it  rattle?  I 
880 


SET  IN  SILVER  331 

thought  I  had  got  hold  of  one,  through  the  Tyndals, 
but  Sir  Lionel  would  n't  listen  to  the  rattling,  would  n't 
let  it  rattle  for  an  instant.  It  is  only  the  change  of 
climate  and  English  food  that  prevents  his  manners 
from  being  (as  no  doubt  they  were  in  Eastern  climes) 
those  of  a  Bashaw;  and  if  he  were  one's  husband  he 
could  n't  be  more  disagreeable  than  he  is  at  times. 

Not  that  he  means  to  be  disagreeable.  If  he  did, 
one  would  know  how  to  take  him  —  or  not  to  take  him. 
But  it  is  his  polite  indifference  to  which  I  object.  I  'm 
not  used  to  it  in  men.  It 's  like  a  brick  wall  you  're 
dying  to  kick  against,  only  it 's  no  use.  I  don't  take  all 
the  trouble  I  do  with  my  hair  and  complexion  not  to 
be  looked  at,  I  assure  you.  Why,  my  waist  might  just 
as  well  be  two  inches  bigger  for  all  he  notices!  It  is 
too  trying.  And  then,  to  see  the  way  he  looks  at  that 
girl,  who  does  n't  know  enough  about  physical  economy 
to  make  powder  stick  on  her  nose  when  it  rains! 

It  does  me  good  to  talk  to  you  like  this.  Dick  isn't 
sympathetic,  because  he  happens  to  be  in  love  with 
the  young  female,  and  though  he  occasionally  abuses 
her  himself,  on  the  spur  of  a  snub,  he  won't  let 
me  do  it. 

Don't  think,  however,  that  I  give  up  hope.  By  no 
means.  I  have  heaps  of  tricks  up  my  sleeve,  small 
and  fashionable  as  it  is,  and  lots  of  strings  to  my  bow. 
But  I  just  wish  one  was  a  "bowstring"  and  round  a 
girl's  neck.  I  'd  give  a  tiny,  tiny  pull.  In  fact,  I  did 
give  one  yesterday —  one  which  I  've  been  wanting  to 
give  ever  since  I  received  your  letter.  But  actually, 
till  yesterday,  I  never  got  a  chance.  I  "  made "  several, 


332  SET  IN  SILVER 

but  they  always  went  to  bits,  like  a  child's  house  of 
cards.  Poor  me!  That  is  part  of  the  creature's  clever- 
ness. I  think  she  knew  by  instinct  that  I  had  some- 
thing nasty  to  say,  and  she  kept  dodging  about,  preventing 
me  from  laying  hands  (I  won't  say  claws)  on  her. 

Dick,  too,  she  has  kept  in  the  same  position,  waiting 
for  an  opportunity  to  pounce.  Indeed,  she  has  handled 
us  both  surprisingly  well,  considering  her  age  and 
bringing  up.  I  have  a  certain  respect  for  her.  But  one 
often  respects  people  one  dislikes,  does  n't  one  ?  At 
least,  really  nice,  amusing  people  of  my  type  do. 

Exactly  what  Dick  wants  to  do  with  his  white  mouse 
when  he  has  pounced  on  it  I  have  no  means  of  knowing, 
for  since  a  slight  misunderstanding,  not  to  say  row, 
which  we  had  on  the  night  of  his  return  from  Scotland 
and  you,  a  certain  reserve  has  fallen  between  us,  like 
a  stage  curtain.  He  is  on  the  stage  side;  I  am  in  the 
position  of  audience.  But  I  was  never  in  doubt  for  a 
moment  as  to  what  would  follow  my  pounce,  provided 
the  mouse  did  n't  prove  too  strong  for  me  —  and  I 
don't  think  it  has.  My  pretty  little  ladylike  bite  must 
have  left  a  mark  on  the  velvet  fur. 

I  dare  say  I  have  excited  your  curiosity  by  referring 
to  a  "  row "  with  Dick,  and  lest  you  neglect  my  interests 
in  the  rest  of  the  letter,  to  brood  upon  his,  I  'd  better 
pander  at  once  to  your  maternal  anxiety. 

He  would  n't  have  confessed  to  me  anything  you  had 
told  him  about  Miss  Lethbridge's  antecedents,  for  the 
very  good  reason  that  he  hangs  onto  her  with  the  grip 
of  a  bulldog  on  a  marrow-bone;  but  as  I  was  armed  with 
your  letter  (I  found  it  waiting  for  me  at  Bideford) 


SET  IN  SILVER  333 

containing  full  information,  he  saw  it  was  no  use  to 
keep  anything  back. 

If  I  had  had  the  letter  a  little  earlier  I  might  not  have 
racked  my  valuable  brain  as  violently  as  I  did  to  give 
him  a  chance  alone  with  Ellaline.  I  arranged  for  him 
to  find  her  deserted  at  King  Arthur's  Castle,  like 
Mariana  in  her  moated  grange;  but  on  reading  what 
you  had  to  say,  I  admit  I  had  qualms  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  my  policy  where  Dick's  future  was  concerned.  How- 
ever, even  then  I  trusted  to  myself  to  save  him  if  it  came 
to  the  worst;  and  it  might  have  been  valuable  for  my 
future  if  things  had  happened  "according  to  schedule" 
—  just  because  Sir  Lionel  is  such  a  Bashaw.  He  would 
never  again  have  felt  the  same  to  the  girl  if  she  had 
schemed  to  be  left  behind  in  order  to  meet  Dick.  How- 
ever —  I  can  control  most  men,  and  many  women,  but 
I  can't  control  trains;  and  it  was  through  their  missing 
connections  that  Dick  missed  rescuing  his  ladylove. 
As  it  has  turned  out,  no  harm  has  been  done  to  him. 
I  wish  I  could  be  as  sure  of  myself;  for  Sir  Lionel,  I 
fancy,  has  n't  been  quite  as  nice  since.  He  can't  guess 
what  I  had  to  do  with  the  affair;  but  — I  suppose  even 
men  have  instinct,  inferior  to  ours  though  it  be. 

Dick  came  to  my  room  at  Bideford,  and  was  cross 
because  things  had  gone  wrong;  I  was  cross  because 
he  was  cross  (I  hate  injustice  in  anyone  but  myself), 
and  then  he  was  crosser  because  I  told  him  it  would  never 
do  for  him  to  marry  the  girl,  knowing  what  we  now 
know.  He  said  he  would  have  her,  and  hang  every- 
body else,  especially  Sir  Lionel;  I  argued  that  hanging 
people  would  do  no  good;  and  he  then  said  that  it  would 


334  SET  IN  SILVER 

be  all  right  anyhow  about  the  dot,  as  he  knew  a  way 
of  getting  something  decent  out  of  Sir  Lionel  for  her. 
What  he  knew  he  firmly  refused  to  divulge,  and  when 
I  asked  if  he  'd  told  you,  he  replied  that  he  jolly  well 
hadn't.  Also  he  accused  me  of  "stinginess,"  in  not 
wanting  "Pendragon  to  part,"  and  wishing  to  keep  the 
"whole  hog"  for  myself;  his  delicate  way  of  expressing 
my  desire  to  retain  the  means  of  purchasing  tiaras,  etc., 
suitable  to  my  rank,  in  case  I  should  become  the  future 
Lady  Pendragon. 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  our  family  relations 
were  somewhat  strained,  but  before  they  reached  snap- 
ping point,  with  my  accustomed  tact  (partly  learned 
from  you)  I  smoothed  my  nephew  down,  regardless 
of  my  own  injured  feelings.  Nothing  could  be  better 
for  me  than  that  he  should  be  engaged  to  Miss  Leth- 
bridge,  though,  of  course,  nothing  could  be  worse  for  us 
all  than  that  he  should  marry  her.  Trust  me,  I  say 
again,  as  I  have  said  before,  to  prevent  that.  I  assure 
you,  I  can  easily  do  it.  Meanwhile,  I  encourage  Dick 
to  believe  that  he  has  softened  my  hard  heart;  and 
though  he  does  n't  believe  in  me  absolutely,  or  tell  me  all 
the  workings  of  his  mind,  I  'm  certain  you  need  have 
no  anxiety  about  your  son  and  heir. 

Now  to  my  own  affairs,  which,  after  Dick's  future  and 
your  neuralgia,  I  flatter  myself  are  dear  to  you. 

You  've  often  remarked  that  I  'm  nothing  if  not 
dramatic,  and  perhaps  when  I  tell  you  what  I  did 
yesterday  you  will  think  I  've  proved  it  for  the  hun- 
dredth —  or  is  it  the  thousandth  ?  —  time. 

We  left  Wells  (which  depressed  me  as  all  cathedral 


SETINSILVER  335 

towns  do,  because  everybody,  and  even  every  building, 
seems  so  unco  guid)  to  run  through  the  Cheddar  ravine, 
which,  I  fancy,  though  I  don't  know  and  care  less,  is 
among  the  Mendip  Hills.  I  woke  up  with  a  headache, 
not  having  slept  on  account  of  a  million  church  clocks 
and  bells  which  were  deadly  busy  all  night,  and  I  felt 
I  should  be  no  better  until  I  'd  had  it  out  with  the 
enemy. 

Sir  Lionel,  as  you  know,  can  be  a  pleasant  companion 
when  he  chooses,  and  he  's  so  good-looking  in  his  soldier 
way  that  I  can't  help  admiring  him  when  I  'm  not 
hating  him,  but  it  is  a  strain  on  the  nerves,  headache 
or  no  headache,  sitting  next  a  man  and  trying  every 
minute  to  make  him  like  you  better  than  he  does  the 
woman  he  wants  to  be  with,  who  is  sitting  behind  him. 
It  means  that  you  must  be  amusing  and  witty  and 
interested  in  everything  he  says.  But  how  can  you 
be  witty  when  the  only  thing  you  want  to  say  is  "  devil 
and  damn,"  of  which  he  would  violently  disapprove 
from  a  lady's  lips  (or  pen)  ?  And  how  can  you  be  interested 
in  all  he  says  when  he  discourses  about  mouldy  old 
saints,  and  legends,  and  history,  and  things  over  and 
done  with  long  ago,  like  that?  What  do  I  care  if  St. 
Dunstan  — of  whom  I  heard  too  much  at  Glastonbury 
—  saved  King  Edmund,  hunting  in  the  Mendips,  from 
falling  over  Cheddar  Cliff,  horse  and  man  ?  Why,  I 
don't  even  know  who  Edmund  was,  or  when  he  hap- 
pened. Celtic  relics,  found  in  caves,  are  less  than 
nothing  to  me,  and  Roman  coins  are  a  mere  aggravation 
when  one  is  bothered  how  to  get  current  coin  of  the 
realm.  Botany  bores  me,  too,  though  I  have  been 


336  SET  IN  SILVER 

studying  it,  together  with  many  other  dull  things  which, 
unfortunately  for  me,  Sir  Lionel  likes. 

Well,  we  went  up  the  Mendip  Hills  by  way  of  an 
obscure  little  village  called  Priddy,  which  seemed  im- 
portant to  Sir  L.  because  they  found  some  lead  pigs 
in  a  mine  there  marked  Imp.  Vespasianus,  and  a  few 
old  Roman  dice,  and  brooches  like  safety-pins.  It 
would  be  much  more  to  the  point  if  he  would  take  an 
interest  in  what  /  wear,  rather  than  concentrating  his 
attention  on  the  way  B.  c.  Roman  miners  or  soldiers 
contrived  to  fasten  their  rags  together.  It  would  console 
one  for  invariably  losing  one's  pins  and  hatpins  when 
one  wants  them  most,  if  one  could  think  future  genera- 
tions would  grow  emotional  over  them.  Yet,  on  the 
whole,  I  should  prefer  it  done  by  a  certain  man  in  my 
own  generation. 

The  moment  we  got  away  from  Priddy,  where  a  lot 
of  starfish  roads  come  together,  my  spirits  rose.  The 
country  began  to  look  theatrical,  which  was  a  pleasant 
change  after  Wells,  and  all  my  native  dramaticness 
began  to  surge  in  me.  I  felt  on  my  mettle;  and  when 
Sir  Lionel  talked  about  visiting  the  Cheddar  Caverns 
I  said  to  myself :  "  My  name  is  n't  Gwen  Senter 
if  I  don't  get  hold  of  the  girl  in  a  cave,  and  tell  her  a 
thing  or  two/*  It  can't  be  easy  to  escape  from  people 
in  caves,  I  thought;  and  so  it  proved.  But  I  haven't 
come  to  that,  yet. 

I  really  enjoyed  the  Cheddar  Ravine.  It  is  the  sort 
of  scenery  that  appeals  to  me.  Hills  rose,  wild  and 
rocky,  shutting  in  our  road,  and  brigands  would  have 
been  appropriate,  as  in  some  mountain  pass  of  Spain. 


SET  IN  SILVER  337 

There  were  sheer  gray  cliffs  like  castles  and  burnt-out 
churches,  and  watch-towers. 

Said  Sir  Lionel:  "Here  we  come,  straight  from  one 
of  the  finest  cathedrals  made  by  man,  to  see  what  Nature 
can  do  in  the  way  of  ecclesiastical  architecture;  facades 
here  as  fine  as  any  west  front,  and  vaguely  rich  with 
decoration."  I  purred,  of  course,  agreeing,  and  pointing 
out  graceful  spires,  empty  niches  for  saints,  tombs  for 
cardinals,  and  statues  of  kings  and  bishops  with  crowned 
and  mitred  heads,  babbling  on  thus  with  hurried  intelli- 
gence, lest  Ellaline  should  jump  in  ahead. 

It  's  the  kind  of  place  —  this  weird  alley  of  colourful 
rock  —  where  you  feel  things  must  happen,  and  I  deter- 
mined they  should  happen;  a  hidden  place  you  are 
surprised  at  being  able  to  enter,  as  if  the  door  had  been 
shut  by  enchantment  a  few  million  years,  and  then 
forcibly  opened  for  modern  motorists.  I  used  this  idea 
on  Sir  Lionel,  in  a  form  too  elaborate  to  waste  on  a  sister, 
and  made  a  distinct  hit.  But  Ellaline  got  in  a  little 
deadly  work  at  the  first  cave.  She  began  talking  fairy 
talk  with  Sir  Lionel,  and  that  not  being  my  style,  I  had 
to  let  her  have  her  head. 

Fancy  my  pretending  to  be  a  child  who,  having  lost 
itself,  suddenly  sees  a  hole  in  a  rock,  crawls  in  for  shelter 
from  beasts  of  the  forest,  and  finds  that  by  accident 
it  has  stumbled  on  the  entrance  to  fairyland!  But 
Miss  Lethbridge  had  quite  a  fairy  game  with  Sir  Lionel, 
who,  she  played,  was  his  ancestor  King  Arthur,  carried 
to  this  strange  place  by  the  four  queens  who  rowed 
his  body  across  the  lake.  "You  can  be  one  of  the 
queens,  if  you  like,"  she  graciously  said  to  me.  "And 


338  SETINSILVER 

dear  Mrs.  Norton  another?"  I  suggested.  That  turned 
the  budding  drama  into  farce,  as  I  meant  it  should. 

It  was  a  weird  cave,  and  would  have  served  excel- 
lently for  my  purpose;  but  when  I  heard  there  was  an- 
other to  follow  —  as  servants  say  of  the  next  course  for 
dinner  —  I  thought  it  would  be  an  anti-climax  to  use 
this  one.  Besides,  there  were  a  good  many  people  in 
it.  There  were  tricky  illuminations  to  show  off  the 
best  formations,  one  of  which  'was  King  Solomon's 
Temple,  King  S.  sitting  with  folded  arms  at  the 
entrance,  his  knees  up  as  if  he  had  a  pain;  but 
being  only  a  pink  stalagmite,  he  could  n't  be  ex- 
pected to  behave. 

Having  done  justice  to  Gough's  Cavern,  we  returned 
to  the  car,  and  skimmed  along  the  splendid,  rock-walled 
road  to  the  next  cave,  which,  it  appears,  is  a  deadly 
rival  of  the  first.  One  advertises  visits  of  Martel,  the 
explorer;  the  other  boasts  the  approval  of  royalty.  I  'm 
sure  they  would  love  to  have  a  notice  up :  "  By  appoint- 
ment to  the  King,"  as  if  they  were  tailors.  But  what  could 
a  king  do  with  a  cave  nowadays  ?  At  one  time,  it  might 
have  been  handy  to  hide  in,  but  those  days  and  those 
kings  are  changed.  I  believe,  by  the  way,  Britons 
did  hide  in  one  or  two  of  the  Cheddar  Caverns,  when 
the  Saxons  were  uncomfortably  interested  in  their 
whereabouts,  and  there  are  bones,  but  I  'm  glad  to  say 
we  didn't  see  them.  I  hate  to  be  reminded  of  what  I  'm 
built  on,  and  can't  bear  to  look  in  the  glass  after  seeing 
a  skull,  with  or  without  cross-bones. 

In  this  second  cave,  when  Mrs.  Norton  was  putting 
an  appropriate  prehistoric  question  I  'd  coached  her 


SET  IN  SILVER  339 

up  to  ask  her  brother,  I  linked  a  friendly  arm  in  Ella- 
line's,  and  bore  her  off  under  convoy. 

"What  a  sweet,  illuminated  stalactite  curtain!"  said 
I,  rapturously.  "Doesn't  it  look  like  translucent 
coral,  and  wouldn't  you  like  to  have  a  dress  exactly 
that  colour  ?  " 

Thus  I  managed  to  keep  her  with  me,  and  fall  behind 
the  others,  glaring  at  Dick  so  meaningly  as  to  frighten 
him  away  when  he  showed  signs  of  lingering. 

My  scene  thus  effectively  set,  and  the  two  leading 
characters  on  the  stage  together,  I  lost  no  time  in  be- 
ginning to  recite  my  lines.  It  was  in  a  dark  sort  of  rock- 
parlour,  with  some  kind  of  an  illuminated  witches' 
kitchen  or  devil's  cauldron  to  look  at,  and  give  us  an 
excuse  to  pause  —  all  very  effective. 

"  Miss  Lethbridge,"  I  said,  "  I  have  rather  a  disagree- 
able duty  to  perform." 

"  When  people  tell  you  they  have  a  duty  to  perform, 
it  goes  without  saying  that  it 's  disagreeable,"  she 
replied,  with  a  flippancy  on  which  I  consider  I  have 
the  patent. 

"Have  I  a  black  on  my  nose,  or  is  my  dress  undone 
at  the  back?" 

"There  is  a  black,"  said  I,  "but  it's  not  on  your 
nose." 

"On  my  character,  perhaps?"  she  insinuated. 

"Not  exactly,"  said  I.  "But  it  will  be  on  my  con- 
science if  I  don't  get  it  off.  You  see,  you  ought  to 
know.  If  you  don't  know,  you  're  handicapped,  and 
it  is  n't  fair  that  a  girl  like  you  should  be  handicapped. 
I  Ve  been  trying  for  days  to  screw  up  my  courage  to 


340  SET  IN  SILVER 

speak.  In  this  queer  place,  I  feel  suddenly  as  if  I  could. 
Shall  we  talk  here,  while  we  have  the  chance?" 

"You  talk,  please,"  said  she.  "I  will  do  the  rest.'* 
(Pert  thing.)  However,  I  took  her  at  her  word,  and 
did  what  I  had  to  do,  with  neatness  and  dispatch,  as 
an  executioner  should.  But  the  odd  part  was,  that  when 
I  had  chopped  off  her  head  with  the  axe  you  sharpened 
for  me  and  posted  from  Scotland,  registered  and  ex- 
pressed, she  hardly  seemed  to  know  it  was  off.  She 
did  look  a  little  pale,  though  that  might  have  been  the 
effect  of  the  strange  light,  but  she  thanked  me  pleasantly 
for  telling  her  the  truth,  and  said  she  quite  appreciated 
my  motive. 

"I  was  prompted  entirely  by  my  interest  in  you,  and 
because  of  my  nephew's  friendship,"  I  said. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  like  cream.  "What 
else  could  it  be?" 

"It  could  be  nothing  else,"  I  replied  emphatically. 
"I  'm  sure  I  hated  distressing  you,  but  it  was  that  good 
might  come.  I  do  hope  it  has  n't  upset  you  too  much  ?  " 

"No,  not  too  much,"  said  she.  "But  it  has  made 
me  horribly  —  hungry ! " 

Really,  that  did  stagger  me!  I  must  confess  I  can't 
tell  what  to  make  of  the  girl.  Anyhow,  she  knows, 
which  is  the  principal  thing,  and  no  matter  how  remark- 
able an  actress  she  may  be  for  her  age,  she  must  care. 
It  would  n't  be  human  not  to  care  for  such  a  story  about 
her  own  mother  and  father.  Yet  she  took  it  so  imper- 
sonally! I  can't  get  over  that.  And  she  actually  ate 
a  good  luncheon!  I  wonder  she  could  swallow.  But, 
of  course,  I  'd  put  everything  as  politely  as  I  could  put 


SET  IN  SILVER  341 

such  things,  because  I  did  n't  want  her  to  scream  or  faint. 
Well,  I  need  n't  have  worried ! 

We  had  lunch  at  an  inn  near  Cox's  Cavern,  with  two 
cascades  in  the  back  garden,  which  is  shut  in  by  quite 
a  private  and  special  gorge  of  its  own.  I  watched  the 
girl  as  much  as  I  dared,  but  she  looked  about  as  usual 
so  far  as  I  could  make  out.  The  only  noticeable  effect 
of  our  conversation  was  that  she  seemed  somewhat  sup- 
pressed, sat  silent  and  thoughtful,  and  attempted  no 
sallies. 

Dozens  of  motors  arrived  while  we  were  eating,  gor- 
geous cars  with  resplendent  chauffeurs,  but  there  was  n't 
one  to  put  the  bonnet  of  "Apollo"  (as  someone  has 
named  ours)  out  of  joint;  and  not  one  chauffeur  as 
striking  as  our  extraordinary  Bengali  in  his  native  dress. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  I  bound  Ellaline  to  secrecy 
before  I  began  my  tale,  saying  that  I  'd  had  the  infor- 
mation in  confidence.  She  has  her  faults,  but  I  don't 
think  she  'd  break  her  word.  She  is  one  of  those  tall, 
upstanding,  head-in-the-air  creatures  who  pride  them- 
selves on  keeping  a  promise  till  it 's  mouldy. 

My  headache  was  better,  after  relieving  my  mind, 
and  I  enjoyed  the  run  to  Clifton  and  Bristol.  We  had 
to  go  through  the  queer  old  gray  village  of  Cheddar, 
which  was  as  cheesy  looking  as  one  would  expect  it  to  be; 
and  I  suppose  the  Market  Cross  we  passed  must  have 
been  good,  as  Sir  Lionel  would  stop  and  take  a  photo- 
graph. As  we  turned  out  of  the  place  for  Axbridge, 
I  threw  a  glance  over  my  shoulder,  back  at  the  exit 
of  the  queer  valley,  and  a  carved  bronze  screen  seemed 
already  to  have  been  drawn  across  it. 


342  SET  IN  SILVER 

It  was  a  fine  road;  Axbridge  a  sort  of  toy  village  whose 
houses  might  have  been  made  for  good  little  girls  to  play 
with;  and  to  avoid  the  traffic  in  the  main  road  we  went 
by  way  of  Congresbury,  where  the  Milford-Joneses  live. 
I  was  glad  we  did  n't  meet  them  driving  their  old  pony- 
chaise.  I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  bow.  There 
was  a  turn  which  led  us  into  a  charming  road,  winding 
high  among  woods,  then  coming  out  where  the  gorge 
of  the  Avon  burst  upon  our  view.  It  always  pleases 
Sir  Lionel  if  one  is  enthusiastic  over  scenery,  so  I  was, 
though  I  really  hated  going  over  that  awfully  high 
suspension  bridge,  as  I  detest  looking  down  from 
heights.  So  does  Mrs.  Norton;  but  I  can't  afford  to 
be  classed  with  her,  therefore  I  joined  Ellaline  in 
exclaiming  that  the  bridge  was  glorious.  I  suppose  it  is 
fine,  if  one  could  only  look  without  fear  of  being  seasick. 

We  stopped  all  night  in  Clifton,  in  which  Miss  Leth- 
bridge  was  interested,  largely  because  of  "Evelina," 
who  stopped  at  the  Hot  Wells,  in  the  "  most  romantic 
part  of  the  story."  I  could  n't  for  my  life  remember 
who  wrote  "Evelina" — which  was  awkward;  and  it 
has  n't  come  back  to  me  yet.  I  always  mix  the  book 
up  with  "  Clarissa  Harlowe,"  and  so  does  Dick,  though, 
of  course,  he  's  read  neither. 

We  went  to  see  a  lot  of  things  in  Bristol,  but  the  best 
was  a  church  called  St.  Mary  Redcliffe.  Mrs.  Norton, 
though  tired,  pined  to  go  when  she  heard  it  was  famous; 
and  it 's  as  much  as  your  life  is  worth  to  deny  her  a 
church  if  she  wants  one.  The  others,  except  Dick, 
said  it  was  worth  stopping  for;  also  that  they  were  glad 
they  did;  so  somebody  was  pleased!  And  Sir  L.  and 


SETINSILVER  343 

E.  jabbered  enough  history  in  Bristol  to  last  a  schoolmaster 
a  week.  I  was  quite  thankful  to  start  again,  and  stop  the 
flow  of  intelligence,  because  I  had  n't  found  time  to  fag 
up  Bristol  and  Clifton  beforehand,  as  I  do  some  towns. 

So  we  came  to  Bath,  where  we  've  been  stopping  for 
two  days  at  one  of  the  best  hotels  in  England,  and  where 
I  might  enjoy  a  little  well-earned  civilization  if  it  were  n't 
that  there  are  a  thousand  and  one  old  houses  and  other 
"features"  which  Mademoiselle  Ellaline  pretends  she 
yearns  to  visit.  Of  course,  /  know  that  all  she  wants 
is  a  chance  to  monopolize  Sir  L.'s  society,  but  he  does  n't 
know  that;  and  my  business  is  not  only  to  fight  unjust 
monopoly,  but  to  establish  a  Senter-Pendragon  Trust 
myself.  Consequently  there  is  no  rest  for  the  wicked, 
and  willy-nilly,  I,  too,  gloat  over  relics  of  the  past. 

Luckily  for  me,  as  I  have  had  to  do  more  sight-seeing 
here  than  almost  anywhere  else,  Bath  is  a  fascinating 
place,  and  I  believe  it 's  becoming  very  fashionable  again. 
Anyhow,  all  the  great  ones  of  earth  seem  to  have  lived 
here  at  one  time  or  another.  I  wonder  if  it  might  n't 
be  nice  for  you  to  spend  a  season,  taking  the  waters, 
or  bathing,  or  whatever  is  the  smartest  thing  to  do  ? 
I  've  noticed  it 's  only  the  very  smartest  thing  that  ever 
thoroughly  agrees  with  you,  and  I  sympathize.  I  have 
the  sort  of  feeling  that  what  is  good  for  duchesses  may 
be  good  for  me;  but  if  I  bring  off  what  I  'm  aiming  at 
now,  Lady  Pendragon  shall  rise  on  the  ladder  of  her 
husband's  fame  and  her  own  charm  to  the  plane  of 
royalties. 

By  the  way,  in  nosing  about  among  the  foundations 
of  a  church  here,  St.  Peter's  —  they  found  the  wife  (her 


344  SET  IN  SILVER 

body,  I  mean)  of  that  King  Edmund  Thingummy  I 
never  could  find  out  about.  He  seems  always  to  be 
cropping  up! 

I  was  in  hopes  we  'd  only  have  to  go  back  to  the 
Roman  days  of  Bath,  as  that  saves  trouble;  but,  oh  no, 
down  I  must  dip  into  Saxon  lore,  or  I  'm  not  in  it  with 
the  industrious  Miss  Lethbridge!  I  think  the  wretched 
Saxons  had  a  mint  here,  or  something,  and  there  were 
religious  pageants  of  great  splendour  in  which  that  ever- 
lasting St.  Dunstan  mixed  himself  up.  I  tell  you  these 
things,  I  may  explain,  not  because  I  think  you  will  be 
interested,  but  because  I  want  to  fix  them  in  my  mind, 
as  we  have  n't  finished  "  doing "  Bath  yet,  and  are  to 
stop  another  day  or  two. 

As  for  Roman  talk,  there  is  no  end  of  it  among  us; 
it  mingles  with  our  meals,  which  would  otherwise  be 
delicious;  and  in  my  dreams,  instead  of  being  lulled  by 
the  music  of  a  beautiful  weir  under  my  window,  I  find 
myself  mumbling:  "Yes,  Sir  Lionel,  Ptolemy  should 
have  said  the  place  was  outside,  not  in,  the  Belgic  border." 
(Sounds  like  something  new  in  embroidery,  does  n't 
it?)  "Strange,  indeed,  that  they  only  discovered  the 
Roman  Baths  so  late  as  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth 
century!  And  then,  only  think  of  finding  the  biggest 
and  best  of  all,  more  than  a  hundred  years  later!" 

I  assure  you,  I  have  kept  my  end  up  with  my  two  too- 
well-informed  companions,  and  I  was  even  able  to  tell 
Sir  Lionel  a  legend  he  didn't  know:  about  Bladud, 
a  son  of  "the  British  King  Lud  Hudibras,  creating  Bath 
by  black  magic,  secreting  a  miraculous  stone  in  the  spring, 
which  heated  the  water  and  cured  the  sick.  Then  Bladud 


SET  IN  SILVER  345 

grew  so  conceited  about  his  own  powers  that  he  tried 
to  fly,  and  if  he  had  succeeded  there  would  have  been 
no  need  for  the  Wright  brothers  to  bother;  but  when  he 
got  as  far  as  London  from  Bath  the  wing-strings  broke 
and  he  fell,  plop!  on  a  particularly  hard  temple  of 
Apollo.  After  him  reigned  his  son,  no  less  a  person 
than  King  Lear.  I  got  this  out  of  a  queer  little  old  book 
I  bought  the  first  day  we  came,  but  I  assumed  the  air 
of  having  known  it  since  childhood.  There  's  another 
legend,  it  seems,  about  Bladud  and  a  swine,  but  it 's 
less  esoteric  than  this,  and  Sir  Lionel  likes  mine  better. 

I  do  wish  we  had  n't  to  spend  so  much  time  poking 
about  in  the  Roman  Baths,  for  though  there  are  good 
enough  sights  to  see  there,  for  those  who  love  that  sort 
of  thing,  one  does  get  such  cold  feet,  and  there  are  such 
a  lot  of  steps  up  and  down,  one's  dress  is  soon  dusty 
round  the  bottom,  and  that 's  a  bore  when  one  has  no 
maid. 

If  I  could  choose,  I  'd  prefer  the  Pump  Room,  and 
would  rather  talk  of  Beau  Nash  and  the  old  Assembly 
Rooms  than  of  Minerva  and  her  temple  —  or  indeed 
of  Pepys,  or  Miss  Austen  and  Fanny  Burney.  By  the 
way,  "  Evelina  "  was  hers.  I  've  found  that  out,  without 
committing  myself.  I  wish  I  could  buy  the  book  for 
sixpence.  I  think  I  '11  try,  when  nobody  is  looking; 
and  it  ought  to  be  easy,  for  we  simply  haunt  a  bookshop 
in  Gay  Street,  belonging  to  a  Mr.  Meehan,  who  is  a 
celebrity  here.  He  has  written  a  book  in  which  Sir 
Lionel  is  much  interested,  called  "Famous  Houses  of 
Bath,"  and  as  it  seems  he  knows  more  about  the  place 
as  it  was  in  old  days  and  as  it  is  now  than  any  other  living 


346  SET  IN  SILVER 

person,  he  has  been  going  round  with  us,  showing  us 
those  "features"  I  mentioned.  He  appears  to  have 
architecture  of  all  kinds  at  his  finger  tips,  and  not  only 
points  out  here  and  there  what  "Wood  the  elder  and 
Wood  the  younger"  did,  under  patronage  of  Ralph 
Allen,  but  knows  which  architect's  work  was  good, 
which  bad,  which  indifferent;  and  that  really  is  beyond 
me!  I  suppose  one  can't  have  a  soul  for  Paris  fashions 
and  English  architecture  too?  I  prefer  to  be  a  judge 
of  the  former,  thanks !  It 's  of  much  more  use  in  life. 

I  should  think  there  can  hardly  be  a  street,  court, 
or  even  alley  of  Old  Bath  into  which  we  have  n't  been 
led  by  our  clever  cicerone,  to  see  a  "  bit "  which  ought  n't 
on  any  account  to  be  missed.  Here,  the  remains  of 
the  Roman  wall,  crowded  in  among  mere,  middle- 
aged  things;  there  the  place  where  Queen  Elizabeth 
stayed,  or  Queen  Anne;  where  "Catherine  Morland" 
lodged,  or  "  General  Tilney " ;  where  "  Miss  Elliot "  and 
"Captain  Wentworth"  met;  where  John  Hales  was 
born,  and  Terry,  the  actor;  where  Sir  Sidney  Smith  and 
De  Quincey  went  to  school;  the  house  whence  Elizabeth 
Linley  eloped  with  Sheridan;  the  place  where  the  "King 
of  Bath,"  poor  old  Nash,  died  poor  and  neglected; 
and  so  on,  ad  infinitum,  all  the  way  to  Prior  Park,  where 
Pope  stayed  with  Ralph  Allen,  rancorously  reviling 
the  town  and  its  sulphur-laden  air.  So  now  you  can 
imagine  that  my  "walking  and  standing"  muscles  are 
becoming  abnormally  developed,  to  the  detriment  of 
the  sitting-down  ones,  which  I  fear  may  be  atrophied 
or  something  before  we  return  to  motor  life. 

Sir  Lionel  has  remarked  that  Bath  is  a  "microcosm 


SET  IN  SILVER  347 

of  England,"  and  I  hastened  to  say  "Yes,  it  is."  Do 
you  happen  to  know  what  a  microcosm  means?  Dick 
says  it 's  a  conglomeration  of  microbes,  but  he  is  always 
wrong  about  abstract  things  unconnected  with  Sherlock 
Holmes. 

By  this  time  you  will  be  as  tired  of  Bath  as  if  you  had 
pottered  about  in  it  as  much  as  I  have,  and  won't  care 
whether  it  had  two  great  periods  —  Roman  and 
eighteenth  century  —  or  twenty,  inextricably  entangled 
with  the  South  Pole  and  Kamchatka.  M ore  tired  than 
I,  even,  for  I  have  got  a  certain  amount  of  satisfaction 
to  the  eye  from  the  agreeable,  classic-looking  terraces 
and  crescents,  and  the  pure  white  stone  buildings  that 
glitter  on  the  hillsides  overlooking  the  Avon.  That 
is  the  sort  of  background  which  is  becoming  to  me,  and 
as  I  had  all  my  luggage  meet  me  in  Bath,  I  have  been 
able  to  dress  for  it;  whereas  Miss  Lethbridge  has  done 
most  of  her  exploring  in  blue  serge. 

In  a  day  or  two  we  are  off  again  —  Wales  sooner  or 
later,  I  believe,  though  I  ask  no  questions,  as  I  don't 
care  to  draw  attention  to  my  own  future  plans.  We 
were  asked  for  a  fortnight,  and  I  am  not  troubling  my 
memory  to  count  by  how  many  days  we  have  overstayed 
—  not  our  welcome,  I  hope  —  but  our  invitation.  You 
will  wonder  perhaps  why  I  "overstay,"  since  I  frankly 
admit  that  I  'm  "  fed  up "  with  too  much  scenery  and 
too  much  information.  Yet  no,  you  are  far  too  clever 
to  wonder,  dear  Sis.  You  will  see  for  yourself  that  I 
must  go  on,  like  "the  brook,"  until  Sir  Lionel  asks  me 
to  go  on  — as  Lady  Pendragon.  Or  else  until  I  have 
to  abandon  hope.  But  I  won't  think  of  that.  And  I 


348  SET  IN  SILVER 

am  being  so  nice  to  Mrs.  Norton  (whenever  necessary) 
that  I  think  she  has  forgiven  me  the  colour  of  my  hair, 
and  will  advise  her  brother  to  invite  me  to  make  a  little 
visit  at  Graylees  Castle,  where  it  is  understood  the  tour 
eventually  comes  to  an  end.  When  this  end  may  arrive 
the  god  of  automobiles  knows.  A  chauffeur  proposes; 
the  motor-car  disposes.  And  the  Woman-in-the-Car 
never  reposes  —  when  there  's  another  woman  and  a 
man  in  the  case. 

Your-enduring-to-the-end , 

GWEN. 

P.S. — That  was  an  inspiration  of  mine  about  the 
Cheddar  Cavern,  was  n't  it  ?  I  have  another  now,  and 
will  make  a  note  of  it.  N.B.— Get  Sir  L.  to  take 
me  to  see  the  ruins  of  Tintern  Abbey  by  moonlight 
(if  any)  and  while  there  induce  him  to  propose,  or  think 
he  has  done  so.  I  have  a  white  dress  which  would  just 
suit. 


XXVII 

ATJDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 


Tintern  Abbey,  August 

DEAREST  SAINT:  We  're  not  exactly  living  in  Tintern 
Abbey;  that  would  be  too  good  to  be  true,  and  would 
also  annoy  the  rooks  which  cry  and  cry  always  in  the 
ruins,  as  if  they  were  ghosts  of  the  dead  Cistercian 
monks,  clothed  not  in  white,  but  in  decent  black,  ever 
mourning  their  lost  glory.  But  we  are  in  a  perfect 
duck  of  a  hotel,  covered  with  Virginia  creeper,  and  as 
close  by  as  can  be.  We  arrived  this  afternoon,  and 
have  had  an  hour  or  two  of  delightful  dawdling  in  the 
Abbey.  Soon  we  are  to  have  an  early  dinner,  which 
we  shall  bolt  if  necessary,  so  that  we  may  go  in  again 
by  moonlight,  before  the  moon  escapes.  I  have  dressed 
quickly,  because  I  wanted  to  begin  a  letter  to  you.  I 
shan't  have  time  to  finish  it,  but  I  '11  do  that  when 
we  've  come  back  from  the  heavenly  ruins,  with  moonlight 
in  my  pores  and  romance  in  my  soul.  I  ought  to  write 
a  better  letter  in  such  a  mood,  ought  n't  I  ?  And  I  do 
try  to  write  nice  letters  to  my  Angel,  because  she  says 
such  dear,  kind  things  about  them,  and  also  because 
I  love  her  better  every  day. 

We  Ve  seen  quantities  of  beautiful  things  and  places 
since  I  wrote  you  last,  darling.  To  think  them  over 
349 


350  SET  IN  SILVER 

is  like  drawing  a  long  gold  chain,  strewn  at  intervals 
with  different  precious  stones,  through  the  fingers, 
slowly,  jewel  by  jewel.  The  gold  chain  is  our  road 
and  the  beautiful  beads  are  the  places,  of  course.  I 
can  say  "  draw  them  slowly  through  the  fingers,"  because 
we  don't  scorch.  We  are  out  to  see  the  "fair  face  of 
England,"  not  to  scurry  over  it  like  distracted  flies. 

I  don't  remember  many  "  jewels  "  on  the  way  to  Glou- 
cester from  Bath  through  Cold  Aston  and  Stroud;  but 
if  I  were  properly  up  in  history,  no  doubt  I  should  have 
noted  more  than  I  did ;  yet  Gloucester  itself  was  a  diamond 
of  the  first  water.  I  feared  to  be  disappointed  in  the 
Cathedral,  so  soon  after  exquisite  Wells  and  the  Abbey 
at  Bath,  which  I  loved.  But  as  soon  as  I  got  inside 
it  was  quite  otherwise,  especially  as  I  had  Sir  Lionel 
to  show  me  things,  and  he  knew  Gloucester  of  old.  To 
me,  the  interior  was  almost  as  interesting  as  Winchester 
itself  (which,  so  far,  has  outranked  all),  for  the  transition 
from  one  period  to  another  is  so  clearly  and  strangely 
marked,  and  it 's  the  actual  birthplace  of  Perpendicular 
architecture.  The  Cloisters  must  be  among  the  loveliest 
in  the  world ;  and  there 's  a  great,  jewelled  window 
which  leaves  a  gorgeous  scintillating  circle  in  my 
mind's  eye,  just  as  the  sun  does  on  your  body's  eye, 
when  you  have  looked  in  the  face  of  its  glory.  Oh, 
and  the  extraordinary  stone  veil,  with  its  gilded  orna- 
mentation! I  shan't  forget  that,  but  shall  think  of  it 
when  I  am  old.  There  is  an  effect  as  of  tall  rows  of 
ripe  wheat  bending  toward  one  another,  gleaming  as 
wheat  does  when  the  breeze  blows  and  the  sun  shines. 

We  heard  the  choir  singing,  an  unseen  choir  of  boys 


SETINSILVER  351 

and  men;  and  the  voices  were  like  shafts  of  crystal, 
rising,  rising,  rising,  up  as  far  as  heaven,  for  all  I  know. 

Don't  you  feel  that  the  voice  of  a  boy  is  purer,  more 
impersonal  and  sexless,  somehow,  than  the  clearest 
soprano  of  a  woman,  therefore  exactly  fulfilling  our 
idea  of  an  angel  singing? 

Think  of  Gloucester  having  been  laid  out  on  the  same 
plan  as  the  praetorian  camp  at  Rome!  They  've  proved 
it  by  a  sketch  map  of  Viollet  le  Due's;  and  under  the 
city  of  the  Saxons,  and  mediaeval  Gloucester,  lies  Glou- 
cestra  —  "  Fair  City "  —  of  the  Romans.  You  can  dig 
bits  of  its  walls  and  temples  up  almost  anywhere  if  you 
go  deep  enough,  people  say.  It  must  have  been  an 
exciting  place  to  live  in  when  Rome  ruled  Britain, 
because  the  fierce  tribes  from  Southern  Wales,  just 
across  the  Severn,  were  always  spoiling  for  a  fight. 
But  now  one  can't  imagine  being  excited  to  any  evil 
passion  in  this  shrine  of  the  great  "Abbey  of  the  Severn 
Lands."  The  one  passion  I  dared  feel  was  admiration; 
admiration  everywhere,  all  the  way  through  from  the 
tomb  of  Osric  the  Woden  who  founded  the  abbey,  to 
the  New  Inn  (which  is  very  old,  and  perfectly  beautiful; 
in  the  ancient  streets,  at  the  abbot's  gateway,  all  round 
the  Cathedral,  inside  and  out,  pausing  at  the  tombs 
(especially  that  of  poor  murdered  King  Edward  II., 
who  was  killed  at  Berkeley  Castle  only  a  few  miles 
away),  and  so  on  and  on,  even  into  the  modern  town 
which  is  inextricably  tangled  with  the  old. 

There  are  quantities  of  interesting  and  lovely  places, 
according  to  Sir  Lionel,  where  one  ought  to  go  from 
Gloucester,  especially  with  a  motor,  which  makes  seeing 


352  SETINSILVER 

things  easier  than  not  seeing  them;  there  's  Chelten- 
ham, with  a  run  which  gives  glorious  views  over  the 
Severn  Valley;  and  Stonebench,  where  you  can  best 
see  the  foaming  Severn  Bore;  and  Tewkesbury,  which 
you  '11  be  interested  to  know  is  the  Nortonbury  of  an 
old  book  you  love  — "  John  Halifax,  Gentleman " ; 
and  Malvern;  and  there 's  even  Stratford-on-Avon, 
not  too  far  away  for  a  day's  run.  But  Sir  Lionel  has 
news  that  the  workmen  will  be  out  of  Graylees  Castle 
before  long,  and  he  says  we  must  leave  some  of  the 
best  things  for  another  time;  Oxford  and  Cambridge, 
for  instance;  and  Graylees  is  so  near  Warwick  and 
Kenilworth  and  Stratford-on-Avon  that  it  will  be  best 
to  save  them  for  separate  short  trips  after  we  have 
"settled  down  at  home." 

How  little  he  guesses  that  there  '11  be  no  settling  down 
for  me  —  that  already  I  have  been  with  him  longer 
than  I  expected!  Whenever  he  speaks  of  "getting 
home,"  and  what  "we"  will  do  after  that,  it  gives  me 
a  horrid,  choky  feeling;  and  I  'm  afraid  he  thinks  me 
unresponsive  on  the  subject  of  the  beautiful  old  place 
which  he  apparently  longs  to  have  me  see,  because 
my  throat  is  always  too  shut  up,  when  it  is  mentioned, 
to  talk  about  it.  I  can't  do  much  more  than  say  "Yes" 
and  "No,"  in  the  absolutely  necessary  places,  and 
generally  show  symptoms  of  cold  in  the  head,  if  there  's 
a  hanky  handy. 

Of  course,  I  am  dying  to  see  you,  dearest.  You 
know  that,  without  my  telling,  and  you  are  everything 
to  me — my  whole  world.  Yet  it  hurts  me  dreadfully 
to  know  that,  when  Sir  Lionel  Pendragon  is  at  home, 


SET  IN  SILVER  353 

instead  of  carrying  out  the  nice  plans  he  makes  each  day 
for  "us"  in  the  future,  he  will  be  despising  me  heartily, 
and  thinking  me  the  very  worst  girl,  without  exception, 
who  ever  lived.  I  believe  he  now  dislikes  Bloody  Queen 
Mary  more  than  any  other  woman  who  ever  spoiled 
the  earth  with  her  offensive  presence;  but  probably  she 
will  go  up  one  when  he  gets  to  know  about  me. 

I  don't  doubt  that  he  '11  be  angry  with  the  real  Ella- 
line  as  well,  but  not  absolutely  disgusted  with  her,  as 
he  will  be  with  me.  Besides,  whatever  he  feels,  it  won't 
matter  to  her  very  much,  except  where  money  is  con- 
cerned, because  she  will  be  married  before  he  knows 
the  truth.  She  won't  have  to  live  in  his  house,  or  even 
in  the  same  country  with  him,  for  her  home  will  be  in 
France  with  her  soldier-husband.  Unfortunately,  I  'm 
afraid  his  opinion  of  her  may  matter  in  a  mwcenary 
way,  for  I  have  heard  the  whole  story  —  I  believe  the 
true  story  —  of  Ellaline's  mother  and  father,  as  con- 
nected with  Sir  Lionel's  past. 

Mrs.  Senter  told  it,  and  enjoyed  telling  it,  because 
she  thought  it  would  depress  and  take  the  spirit  out  of 
me.  She  hoped,  I  'm  sure,  that  it  would  make  me 
shrink  from  Sir  Lionel's  society  in  shame  and  mortifi- 
cation; also  she  very  likely  fancied  that  I  might  consider 
myself  an  unfit  bride  for  her  nephew,  whose  attentions 
to  me  are  extremely  convenient  for  her;  but  she  would 
prefer  not  to  have  them  end  in  matrimony. 

If  I  were  Ellaline  Lethbridge,  with  the  feelings  of 
Audrie  Brendon,  I  should  have  taken  the  recital  precisely 
as  she  expected;  though  really  I  don't  think  Ellaline 
herself,  as  she  is,  would  have  minded  desperately,  except 


354  SET  IN  SILVER 

about  the  money.  But  being  Audrie  Brendon,  and 
not  Ellaline,  I  could  have  shouted  for  joy  at  almost 
every  word  that  woman  said,  if  it  had  n't  been  in  a  cave 
where  shouting  would  have  made  awful  echoes. 

You  know,  dear,  how  I  have  been  puzzling  over  Sir 
Lionel  the  Noble,  as  he  appears  to  me,  and  Sir  Lionel 
the  Dragon,  as  painted  by  Ellaline,  and  how  I  've  vainly 
tried  to  match  the  pieces  together.  Well,  thanks  to 
Mrs.  Senter's  revelations,  the  puzzle  no  longer  exists. 
Of  course,  long  ago,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  there 
was  a  mistake  somewhere,  and  that  it  was  n't  on  my 
side;  still,  I  could  n't  understand  certain  things.  Now, 
there  isn't  one  detail  which  I  can't  understand  very 
well;  and  that 's  why  I  'm  so  ready  to  believe  Mrs. 
Senter's  story  to  be  true.  Most  disagreeable  things 
are;  and  this  is  certainly  as  disagreeable  for  poor  little 
Ellaline  as  it  was  meant  to  be  disagreeable  for  me. 

Mrs.  Senter  excused  herself  for  telling  me  horrid 
tales  about  my  people  by  saying  that  my  ignorance 
gave  me  the  air  of  being  ungrateful  to  Sir  Lionel,  and 
unappreciative  of  all  he  had  done  for  me.  That  he, 
being  a  man,  was  likely  to  blame  me  for  extravagance 
and  indifference  to  benefits  received,  although  aware, 
when  he  actually  reflected  on  the  subject,  that  I  sinned 
through  ignorance.  She  thought  (said  she)  that  it 
would  be  only  fair  to  tell  me  the  whole  truth,  as  I  could 
then  change  my  line  of  conduct  accordingly;  but  she 
hoped  I  would  n't  give  her  away  to  Sir  Lionel  or  Dick, 
as  she  was  speaking  for  my  sake. 

When  I  had  promised,  she  informed  me  that  "my 
mother,"  Ellaline  de  Nesville,  a  distant  cousin  of  Lionel 


SET  IN  SILVER  355 

Pendragon's,  was  engaged  to  him  when  they  were  both 
very  young.  There  was  a  lawsuit  going  on  at  the  time 
about  some  tin  mines  in  Cornwall,  from  which  most  of 
his  money  came,  for  the  property  was  claimed  by  a  man 
from  another  branch  of  the  family,  who  suddenly 
appeared  waving  a  marriage  certificate  or  a  will,  or  some- 
thing melodramatic.  Well,  the  lawsuit  was  decided 
for  the  other  man,  just  about  the  time  that  Sir  Lionel 
(who  was  n't  Sir  Lionel  then)  got  shot  in  the  arm  and 
seemed  likely  to  be  a  cripple  for  life.  Both  blows 
coming  together  were  too  much  for  Mademoiselle  de 
Nesville,  who  was  fascinating  and  pretty,  but  apparently 
a  frightful  little  cat  as  well  as  flirt,  so  she  promptly  bolted 
with  an  intimate  friend  of  her  fiance,  a  Mr.  Frederic 
Lethbridge,  rich  and  "well  connected."  They  ran 
off  and  were  married  in  Scotland,  as  Ellaline  the 
second  expects  to  be.  (Odd  how  even  profane  history 
repeats  itself!)  And  this  though  Mr.  Lethbridge  knew 
his  friend  was  desperately  in  love  with  the  girl. 

What  happened  immediately  after  I  don't  know, 
except  that  Mrs.  Senter  says  Sir  Lionel  was  horribly 
cut  up,  and  lost  his  interest  in  life.  But  anyhow,  sooner 
or  later,  the  lawsuit,  which  had  gone  to  a  higher  court, 
was,  after  all,  decided  in  his  favour.  The  other  man 
turned  out  to  be  a  fraud,  and  retired  into  oblivion  with 
his  wills  and  marriage  certificates.  Meanwhile,  Ella- 
line  Number  One  awoke  to  the  fact  that  her  husband 
was  n't  as  rich  as  he  was  painted,  or  as  nice  as  she 
had  fancied.  Some  of  his  people  were  millionaires, 
but  he  had  run  through  a  good  deal  of  his  fortune 
because  he  was  mad  about  gambling.  At  first,  when 


356  SETINSILVER 

the  bride  supposed  that  there  was  heaps  of  money,  she 
enjoyed  gambling,  too,  and  they  were  always  at  Long- 
champs,  or  Chantilly,  or  the  English  race-courses,  or 
at  Aix  or  Monte  Carlo.  By  and  by,  though,  when  she 
found  that  they  were  being  ruined,  she  tried  to  pull  her 
husband  up — but  it  was  too  late;  or  else  he  was  the 
sort  of  person  who  can't  be  stopped  when  he  's  begun 
running  down  hill. 

Probably  she  regretted  her  cousin  by  that  time,  as  he 
was  rich  again,  and  likely  to  be  richer,  as  well  as  very 
distinguished.  And  when  a  few  years  later  (while  our 
Ellaline  was  a  baby)  Frederic  Lethbridge  forged  a  mil- 
lionaire uncle's  name,  and  had  to  go  to  prison,  she  must 
have  regretted  Sir  Lionel  still  more,  for  she  was  a  little 
creature  who  loved  pleasure,  and  hardly  knew  how  to 
bear  trouble. 

Mrs.  Senter  said  that  Mr.  Lethbridge  had  been  sure 
the  uncle  would  shield  him  rather  than  have  a  scandal 
in  the  family,  and  so  it  was  a  great  surprise  to  him  to 
be  treated  like  an  ordinary  criminal.  When  he  was 
sentenced  to  several  years  in  prison,  after  a  sensational 
trial,  he  contrived  to  hang  himself,  and  was  found  stone- 
dead  in  his  cell.  His  widow  had  to  go  and  live  with  some 
dull,  disagreeable  relations  in  the  country,  who  thought 
it  their  duty  to  take  her  and  the  baby  for  a  consideration, 
and  there  she  died  of  disappointment  and  galloping  con- 
sumption, leaving  a  letter  for  her  jilted  cousin  Lionel, 
in  Bengal,  which  begged  him  to  act  as  guardian  for  her 
child.  All  the  money  she  had  at  her  death  was  a  few 
thousand  pounds,  of  which  she  had  never  been  able  to 
touch  anything  but  the  income,  about  two  hundred 


SET    IN  SILVER  357 

pounds  a  year;  and  that  sum,  Mrs.  Senter  gave  me  to 
understand,  constituted  my  sole  right  to  consider  myself 
an  heiress. 

Despite  the  shameful  way  in  which  she  had  behaved 
to  him,  Sir  Lionel  accepted  the  charge,  eventually  took 
his  cousin's  little  girl  away  from  the  disagreeable  rela- 
tives, and  put  her  at  Madame  de  Maluet's,  where  Mother 
Ellaline  was  educated  and  particularly  desired  her 
daughter  to  be  educated.  Not  only  did  he  pay  for  her 
keep  at  one  of  the  most  expensive  schools  in  France 
(Madame's  is  that,  and  she  prides  herself  on  the  fact), 
but  gave  her  an  allowance  "far  too  large  for  a  school- 
girl "  in  the  opinion  of  Mrs.,  Senter's  unknown  (to  me) 
informant. 

Does  n't  this  account  for  everything  that  looked 
strange,  and  for  all  that  appeared  cold-hearted,  almost 
cruel,  in  Sir  Lionel  to  Ellaline,  who  had  heard  the  wrong 
side  of  the  story,  certainly  from  Madame  de  Blanche- 
main  —  a  silly  woman,  I  fancy  —  and  perhaps  even 
from  Madame  de  Maluet,  whose  favourite  pupil  Ellaline 
the  First  was  ? 

No  wonder  Sir  Lionel  did  n't  write  to  the  child,  or 
want  her  to  write  to  him,  or  send  her  photograph,  or 
anything!  And  no  wonder  he  dreaded  having  her 
society  thrust  on  him  when  Madame  de  Maluet  hinted 
that  it  was  hardly  decent  to  keep  his  ward  at  school  any 
longer.  I  even  understand  now  why,  when  I  show  the 
slightest  sign  of  flirtatiousness  or  skittishness,  he  stiffens 
up,  and  draws  into  his  shell. 

I  very  politely  let  Mrs.  Senter  see  that  I  appreciated 
her  true  disinterestedness  in  repeating  to  me  this  tragic 


358  SET  IN  SILVER 

family  history;  and  of  course  she  was  a  cat  twice  over 
to  do  it.  At  the  same  time,  I  never  liked  her  so  much 
in  my  life,  because  it  was  so  splendid  to  have  Sir  Lionel 
not  only  justified  (he  hardly  needed  that  with  me,  at 
this  stage)  but  haloed.  I  think  he  has  behaved  like  a 
saint  on  a  stained-glass  window,  don't  you? 

I  have  interrupted  my  letter  about  places  and  things 
tremendously,  to  tell  you  the  story  as  it  was  told  to  me; 
but  it  seemed  to  come  in  appropriately,  and  I  wanted 
you  to  know  it,  so  that  you  might  begin  to  appreciate 
Sir  Lionel  at  his  true  worth  in  case  you  have  been 
doubting  him  a  little  up  to  now. 

Everyone  has  gone  down  to  dinner,  I  'm  afraid,  and  I 
must  go,  too,  because  of  the  Abbey  afterward,  and  not 
keeping  them  waiting;  but  perhaps,  if  I  skip  soup  and 
fish,  I  may  stop  long  enough  to  add  that  after  Gloucester 
we  went  to  quaint  old  Ross,  sacred  to  the  memory  of 
"The  Man  of  Ross,"  who  was  so  revered  that  a  most 
lovely  view  over  the  River  Wye  has  been  named  for 
him.  We  had  lunch  there,  at  a  hotel  where  I  should  love 
to  stay,  and  then  passed  on,  along  a  perfect  road,  down 
the  Wye,  till  we  came  to  Kerne  Bridge,  near  Goodrich 
Castle.  There  we  got  out,  leaving  Buddha  as  the  god 
in  the  car,  and  walked  for  half  a  mile  along  a  romantic 
path  to  the  ruined  castle.  It  was  one  of  the  first  built 
in  England,  and  there  are  early  Norman  parts  of  it  still 
intact,  and  incredibly  strong  looking,  as  if  they  meant 
to  last  another  thousand  years.  I  was  so  interested  in 
it,  and  wish  whoever  it  may  concern  would  leave  the 
castle  to  me  in  his  will.  I  would  fix  up  a  room  or  two 
and  bring  you  there,  and  we  'd  have  that  exquisite  view 


SETINSILVER  359 

always  under  our  eyes.  As  for  servants,  we  could  employ 
ghosts. 

The  Wye  is  even  more  charming  as  a  river  and  as  a 
valley  than  we  used  to  imagine  when  we  wanted  to 
"do"  England,  before  it  burst  upon  us  that  most  of  the 
wherewithal  was  used  up.  Nothing  could  be  more 
dreamy  and  daintily  pretty  than  landscape  and  water- 
scape, though  here  and  there  is  a  bit  which  might  be 
gray  and  grim  if  the  beetling  rocks  were  n't  hatted  with 
moss  and  mantled  with  delicate  green  trees.  Wherever 
there  is  a  boulder  in  the  river,  the  bright  water  laughs 
and  plays  round  it,  as  if  forbidding  it  to  look  stern. 

The  real  way  to  see  the  Wye  is  n't  by  motor,  but  by 
boat,  I  am  sure,  even  though  that  may  sound  treacherous 
to  Apollo  and  disloyal  to  my  petrol;  but  we  did  the  best 
we  could,  and  went  out  of  our  way  some  miles  to  see 
Symond's  Yat,  a  queer,  delightful,  white  village  on  a 
part  of  the  river  which  is  particularly  divine.  There  's 
a  splendid  rock,  and  the  Yat  is  the  rock,  as  well  as  the 
village.  Also  there's  a  cave;  but  I  wasn't  sorry  not 
to  stop  and  go  in,  lest  Mrs.  Senter  might  seize  the 
opportunity  of  telling  me  some  other  fearsome  tale, 
less  welcome  than  the  last. 

In  old  days  it  used  to  take  a  week  by  coach  from  London 
to  Monmouth.  Now,  with  a  motor,  I  dare  say  we  could 
do  it  in  one  long,  long  day,  if  we  tried.  Only  it  would 
be  silly  to  try,  because  one  would  n't  see  anything,  and 
would  make  oneself  a  nuisance  as  a  "road  hog"  to 
everybody  one  met  or  passed.  It  was  Monmouth  we 
came  to  next,  after  "digressing"  to  Symond's  Yat,  and 
as  it  was  nearly  evening  by  that  time,  Sir  Lionel  decided 


360  SETINSILVER 

to  stay  the  night.  He  meant  to  start  again  in  the  morn- 
ing; but  Monmouth  Castle,  towering  out  of  the  river, 
was  so  fine  that  it  was  a  pity  to  leave  it  un visited,  particu- 
larly as  Henry  V.,  a  special  hero  of  Sir  Lionel's  (mine, 
too!)  was  born  there.  Then  we  took  an  unplanned 
eight-mile  run  to  Raglan  Castle,  a  magnificently  im- 
pressive ruin;  and  that  is  why  we  arrived  so  late  to-day 
at  Tintern. 

This  letter  has  grown  like  Jack's  beanstalk,  until  I 
think  I  'd  better  post  it  on  my  way  to  dinner,  instead 
of  adding  rhapsodies  about  moonlight  in  the  Abbey. 
I  won't  forget  to  put  them  in  though,  next  time  I  write, 
which  will  be  almost  immediately  —  if  not  sooner. 
Your  even  more  loving  than  loquacious 

AUDRIE. 


XXVIII 

MRS.  SENTER  TO  HER  SISTER,  MRS.  BURDEN 

Tintern  Abbey 

MY  DEAR  Sis:  He  came,  the  moon  saw,  and  I  — did  n't 
conquer ! 

You  know  what  I  mean  ?  I  'm  sure  you  remember 
what  I  hoped  to  do  at  Tintern  Abbey  by  the  light  of 
the  moon;  and  if  you  are  the  good  elder  sister  I  think 
you  are,  I  trust  you  prayed  for  my  success.  If  you  did, 
don't  mind  too  much  about  the  prayer  not  being  an- 
swered, but  try  again,  and  give  Sir  Lionel  "absent 
treatments,"  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  because,  if  the 
moon  had  been  properly  turned  on,  he  might  have  been 
brought  to  the  point.  For  I  look  my  best  by  moonlight, 
and  have  a  great  gift  of  pathos  in  a  white  light — like 
heroines  of  melodrama  who  always  have  themselves 
followed  about  by  it  on  purpose  —  or  else  by  a  patch 
of  snow.  But  the  moon  was  only  on  at  half-cock,  and 
did  n't  work  well,  and  after  we  had  stubbed  our  toes 
on  several  things  in  dark  shadows  among  the  ruins, 
I  just  folded  up  my  plan  of  campaign,  and  put  it  into 
my  pocket  until  next  time. 

The  pity  of  it !  —  when  I  had  been  at  a  lot  of  trouble 
to  persuade  Mrs.  Norton  that  it  would  be  damp  in  the 
Abbey,  and  that  there  exists  a  special  kind  of  bat  which 
361 


362  SET    IN  SILVER 

haunts  ruins  and  is  consumed  by  an  invincible  desire 
to  nest  in  the  front  hair.  So  she  stopped  in  the  hotel; 
and  as  for  Miss  Lethbridge,  I  knew  I  could  trust  Dick 
to  look  after  her.  But  —  well,  it  can't  be  helped,  and 
the  moon  is  growing  bigger  and  brighter  every  night. 
I  don't  know  whether  there  were  any  toe-stubbing 
incidents  in  the  ranks  of  the  rear-guard;  but  something 
must  have  happened,  for  mademoiselle  has  come  home 
looking  stricken.  I  'm  dying  to  hear  what 's  the  matter, 
but  Dick  won't  tell.  Perhaps  she  swallowed  a  bat ! 

Yours  (would  that  I  could  say  Sir  L.'s)  ever  lovingly, 

GWEN. 


XXIX 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

T intern  Abbey 

Same  night 

AFTER  all,  I  'm  writing  again,  darling  mother.  I  do 
think  that  Dick  is  an  unmitigated  cad.  I  told  him  so, 
and  he  said  it  was  only  because  I  was  so  unkind  to  him, 
and  he  was  determined  I  shouldn't  "chuck"  him.  He 
is  hateful!  It 's  too  horrid  to  be  obliged  to  obey  Dick 
Burden's  orders,  just  for  Ellaline's  sake,  when  if  it 
were  n't  for  her  I  could  not  only  tell  him  what  I  think 
of  him,  but  have  him  sent  away  in  disgrace.  Sir  Lionel 
would  thrash  him,  I  believe,  if  he  knew  —  but  it  's 
useless  to  talk  about  that.  And  as  Dick  gracefully 
reminds  me,  the  pot  can't  call  the  kettle  black.  I  am 
the  pot.  Oh! 

I  was  in  such  a  happy  mood  when  we  went  into  the 
Abbey,  and  so  delighted  that  we  were  able  to  be  there 
by  moonlight,  dreaming  as  little  of  what  would  happen 
as  Red  Riding  Hood  did  before  she  met  the  wolf. 

Sir  Lionel  and  I  started  together,  somehow,  but  the 
minute  we  were  in  the  ruins  Mrs.  Senter  called  him 
to  ask  a  question  about  the  tombs  that  break  the  soft 
green  carpet  of  grass  in  the  long  aisles.  Instantly 
Dick  pounced  on  me,  just  as  his  aunt  did  in  the  cave 
363 


364  SETINSILVER 

the  other  day,  and  I  could  only  have  got  away  from  him 
by  showing  that  I  d'  rather  be  with  Sir  Lionel  — 
which,  of  course,  I  would  n't  do. 

Dick  began  at  once  accusing  me  of  avoiding  him,  and 
keeping  out  of  his  way  on  purpose  when  he  tried  to 
speak  with  me  alone,  ever  since  he  came  back  from 
Scotland;  and  I  retorted  flippantly:  "Oh,  have  you 
only  noticed  that  since  then  ? " 

But  in  a  minute  I  wished  I  had  n't  defied  him.  He 
said,  if  I  wanted  him  to  be  considerate,  making  him 
angry  wasn't  the  right  way  to  set  about  it;  and  that, 
if  I  had  been  in  his  power  before,  I  was  a  good  deal 
deeper  in  now. 

Still,  I  was  n't  so  very  frightened,  because  I  'm  used 
to  his  threats,  and  I  thought  he  was  only  "bluffing"; 
so  I  bluffed  back,  and  laughed,  saying  that  it  did  n't 
suit  his  style  to  be  melodramatic. 

"You  make  me  want  to  shake  you,"  he  said,  crossly. 

"I  know  that,"  said  I.  And  then  he  burst  like  a 
thunder-cloud  —  at  least,  his  news  did ;  the  news  he 
had  been  wanting  to  tell  me  since  Bideford. 

When  he  was  in  Scotland,  he  saw  Ellaline.  She  had 
arrived  with  those  McNamarras  I  told  you  about,  and 
their  place  must  be  near  the  one  where  Dick's  mother 
is  visiting.  He  recognized  her  from  that  photograph 
of  the  school  garden-party  (where  he  saw  my  picture, 
too,  you  know,  and  was  able  to  find  out  my  name,  and 
where  we  live  in  Versailles).  That  is,  he  thought  he 
could  n't  be  mistaken,  but  made  sure  by  inquiring, 
until  he  hit  upon  someone  who  could  tell  him  that  a 
Mademoiselle  de  Nesville  had  come  to  stay  with  Mrs. 


SET  IN  SILVER  365 

and  Miss  McNamarra.  Of  course,  he  could  n't  have 
known  that  Ellaline  had  taken  the  name  of  de  Nesville, 
but  as  he  had  heard  that  de  Nesville  was  her  mother's 
maiden  name,  it  was  n't  difficult  for  a  budding  Sherlock 
Holmes  to  put  two  and  two  together. 

You  see  how  much  worse  the  position  is  now,  both 
for  Ellaline  and  me,  and  that  the  little  wretch  did  n't 
exaggerate  when  he  boasted  that  I  'm  more  "  in  his 
power"  than  ever.  What  a  misfortune  that  Ellaline 
should  have  come  to  Scotland  —  so  near  where  we  shall 
be,  too,  if  we  go  to  the  Roman  Wall!  He  has  only 
to  tell  the  whole  thing  to  Sir  Lionel,  and  say:  "If  you 
don't  believe  it,  run  up  to  such  and  such  a  place,  and  there 
you  will  see  the  real  Ellaline  Lethbridge,  whom  perhaps 
you  may  recognize  from  her  likeness  to  your  cousin, 
her  dead  French  mother." 

If  only  Ellaline  were  safely  married!  But  she  can't 
be  yet,  for  days  and  days,  I  'm  afraid.  She  was  to 
have  written  or  telegraphed  me  at  Gloucester,  if  there 
were  any  chance  of  her  soldier  lover  getting  away  sooner 
than  last  expected;  but  I  had  no  word  from  her  at  all, 
at  the  Poste  Restante  there. 

All  that  sounds  bad  enough  for  me,  does  n't  it  ?  But 
there  's  worse  to  come.  The  wretch  swears  he  will  (as  he 
calls  it),  "give  the  show  away"  to  Sir  Lionel  to-morrow 
if  I  don't  tell  Sir  L.  myself  that  I  have  fallen  in  love 
with  Dick. 

I  said  that  Sir  Lionel  would  n't  believe  me  if  I  did, 
because  I  'd  told  him  at  Torquay  I  was  n't  in  love  with 
Dick.  That  admission  slipped  out,  and  Sherlock  Holmes 
caught  at  it.  "  Ah,  I  thought  you  'd  done  something  to 


366  SET  IN  SILVER 

put  him  off  the  scent ! "  he  flashed  out.  "  I  call  that  down- 
right treacherous  of  you;  and  all  the  more  I  '11  hold 
you  down  to  your  bargain  this  time.  I  said  I  'd  speak 
to-morrow  unless  you  did  what  I  told  you  to  do,  but 
now  I  say  I  '11  speak  this  minute,  if  you  don't  promise 
by  all  that 's  sacred  to  ask  him  for  his  consent  to-morrow. 
I'll  shout  to  him  now.  One — two — three!" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  will ! "  I  cried  —  because  Dick  had  worked 
himself  up  to  such  a  fury  that  I  saw  that  he  meant  what 
he  said. 

"I  shall  know  fast  enough  whether  you  keep  your 
word  or  not,"  he  growled.  "And  if  you  don't,  you 
understand  just  what  you  have  to  expect." 

If  I  had  n't  given  in  to  Ellaline !  I  ought  to  have 
known  that  nothing  but  trouble  could  some  of  it.  Yet 
no — I  won't  wish  it  undone.  I  can't!  No  matter 
what  happens,  I  shall  never  really  regret  what  gave 
me  the  chance  of  meeting  a  man  like  Sir  Lionel.  I  don't 
think  there  is  another  in  the  world.  And  to-morrow 
I  am  to  have  the  honour  of  informing  him  that  I  'm  in 
love  with  that  little  worm,  Dick  Burden.  Having  seen 
the  sun,  I  love  a  flicker  of  phosphorus  on  a  sulphur 
match. 

Do  write  me  the  minute  you  get  this,  won't  you  ? 
No,  telegraph  if  you  can  think  of  anything  consoling 
to  say.  Poste  Restante,  Chester. 

Your  frightened  and  loving 

AUDRIE. 


XXX 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Aberystwith 

August  29th 

BRIGHTEST  AND  BEST  :  I  have  a  short  reprieve,  because 
Dick  has  had  to  go  away  again;  not  to  his  mother,  this 
time,  but  to  London.  A  telegram  was  forwarded  to  him 
from  Gloucester,  where  he  had  left  sending-on  instruc- 
tions; and  he  knocked  at  my  door  early  yesterday  morn- 
ing (at  Tintern)  to  say  he  must  leave  immediately  by 
the  first  train.  He  was  excited,  because  the  telegram  came 
from  the  head  of  a  firm  of  well-known  private  detectives 
with  whom  he  had  been  in  correspondence  for  some  time, 
trying  to  buy  a  junior  partnership  for  a  few  hundreds 
left  him  by  his  grandmother.  There  's  a  chance  now 
that  he  may  get  the  partnership,  only  he  must  be  on  the 
spot,  as  another  man  is  making  an  offer  "more  advan- 
tageous —  in  some  ways."  Dick  is  wild  to  get  in,  and 
regards  this  as  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime.  Does  n't 
that  prove  the  type  of  mind  he  has?  Actually  yearn- 
ing to  be  in  business  as  a  detective!  Well,  he  's  had 
good  practice  lately,  and  I  must  say  he  has  made  the 
most  of  it. 

"  This  call  could  n't  have  come  at  a  worse  time,  but 
I  must  obey  it,"  he  pronounced  solemnly,  while  I  peeped 
367 


368  SETINSILVER 

through  my  half-open  door,  in  my  prettiest  Ellaline 
dressing-gown  —  far  too  nice  to  waste  on  Dick.  Dis- 
gusted with  life,  as  I  was,  I  nearly  laughed  in  his  face, 
and  at  his  face;  but  dared  not  quite,  for  fear  of  enraging 
him  again  just  when  he  appeared  to  be  in  a  comparatively 
lenient  mood. 

He  had  come  to  explain  and  apologize,  and  in  his 
perky  conceit  really  seemed  to  fancy  that  I  might  be  hurt 
at  his  desertion.  So  when  he  asked  if  I  would  "  bid  him 
good-bye  pleasantly,  and  remember  to  keep  my  promise," 
I  had  a  small  inspiration.  I  would  bid  him  good-bye 
pleasantly,  I  bargained,  provided  he  let  me  off  keeping 
the  promise  until  he  should  come  back;  because,  I  said, 
it  would  be  humiliating  to  plead  with  Sir  Lionel  on  the 
very  day  my  fiance  turned  his  back  upon  me  in  order 
to  attend  to  mere  business. 

"You  call  this  mere  business?"  sputtered  Dick;  and  I 
soothed  him,  but  persisted  firmly,  gently,  until  at  last 
he  agreed  to  grant  the  reprieve.  I  think  his  own  vanity, 
not  my  eloquence,  obtained  the  concession,  because  it 
pleased  him  to  believe  that  I  leaned  upon  him  in  this 
crisis.  And  of  course  I  had  to  promise  over  again, 
more  earnestly  than  ever,  "not  to  back  out,  but  to  stick 
to  my  word." 

I  must  still  stick  to  it,  of  course  (unless  a  wire  or  letter 
from  you  meanwhile  suggests  some  miraculous,  agree- 
able, honourable  alternative);  but  sufficient  for  the  day 
is  the  evil  thereof  —  and  the  Dick  thereof. 

This  day  and  several  days  to  come  are  free  from  both; 
for  my  albatross  can't  arrange  the  details  of  its 
partnership,  sell  out  some  investments  in  order  to  pay 


SET    IN  SILVER  369 

the  money  down,  and  join  us  again  before  Chester. 
There  I  shall  certainly  hear  from  you;  and  I  have  such 
infinite  faith  in  your  dove-like  serpentineness,  that  I  let 
myself  cling  to  the  ragged  edge  of  hope.  Meanwhile, 
I  shall  enjoy  myself  as  much  as  I  possibly  can,  so  that, 
at  worst,  I  shall  have  more  good  days  to  remember  when 
bad  days  come.  For  the  days  will  be  very  bad  indeed 
if  I  have  to  bear  Sir  Lionel's  silent  scorn,  and  still  remain 
with  him,  awaiting  release  from  Ellaline. 

I  felt  like  a  different  human  being  after  Dick  had  gone, 
and  would  have  written  you  at  once,  but  he  had  delayed 
me  so  long  that  I  had  to  finish  dressing  at  top  speed, 
because  we  were  to  make  an  earlier  start  than  usual. 
There  was  Chepstow  Castle  to  see  (quite  near,  and  a 
shame  to  have  missed  it),  as  well  as  a  hundred-and-fifty- 
mile  run  to  Tenby. 

Chepstow  was  splendidly  picturesque  and  striking; 
but  the  country  through  which  we  had  to  pass  on  the 
way  to  Tenby  would  not  have  been  particularly  inter- 
esting if  it  were  n't  for  the  legends  and  history  with 
which  it  is  as  full  as  it  is  of  ruined  castles.  It  is  largely 
coal  country  now,  and  after  the  lovely,  winding  Wye, 
playing  hide-and-seek  with  its  guardian  hills,  we  might 
have  found  the  road  unattractive  as  we  ran  through 
Newport,  Cardiff,  Neath,  Swansea,  and  Carmarthen. 
But  it  made  all  the  difference  in  the  world  to  know  that 
Carmarthen  was  Merlin's  birthplace;  that  stories  of 
Arthur's  exploits  and  knightly  deeds  leave  golden  land- 
marks everywhere;  and  that  it  seems  quite  an  ordinary, 
reasonable  thing  to  the  people  to  name  railway  engines 
after  Sir  Lancelot.  Is  n't  it  charming  of  them  ?  Yet 


370  SETINSILVER 

what  would  Elaine,  the  Lily  Maid  of  Astolat,  say  to 
such  a  liberty,  I  wonder  ? 

We  arrived  in  Tenby  too  late  for  anything  save  an 
impression,  last  evening;  but  it  was  one  of  those  enchant- 
ing, mysterious  impressions  which  one  can  only  have 
after  dusk,  when  each  old  ivied  wall  is  purple  with 
romance,  and  each  lamp  in  a  high  window  is  a  lovelight. 

My  first  thought  as  we  came  in  and  found  Tenby 
on  fire  with  sunset,  was  that  the  place  looked  like  a 
foreign  town  set  down  in  England;  and  so  of  course  it  is, 
for  it  was  founded  by  a  band  of  Flemish  people,  who 
fled  from  persecution.  The  huge  old  city  walls  and 
quaint  gates  put  me  in  mind  of  a  glorified  Boulogne,  or 
a  bit  of  old  Dinan,  under  the  castle.  And  the  way  the 
town  lies,  with  its  beautiful  harbour  far  below,  its  gray 
rocks  and  broken  walls  by  the  sea,  in  golden  sands,  is 
like  Turner's  ideas  of  historic  French  fortresses.  The 
Benedictine  monks,  too,  who  come  across  the  gleaming 
stretch  of  water  from  Caldy  Island  in  a  green-and-red 
steam  yacht,  add  one  more  foreign  note.  And  I  'm 
delighted  to  tell  you  that  the  hotel  where  we  stayed  is 
built  upon  the  city  wall  of  which  nobody  seems  to  know 
the  date  —  not  even  the  guide-books.  The  people  we 
asked  rather  apologized  for  having  to  confess  that  prob- 
ably it  was  no  earlier  than  the  twelfth  century;  for  the 
twelfth  century  is  considered  crudely  modern  for  Welsh 
things. 

In  front  of  my  bedroom  window  an  old  lookout  tower, 
darkly  veined  with  ivy,  stood  up  from  the  vast  foundation 
of  the  stone  wall;  and  at  night  I  could  gaze  down,  down, 
over  what  seemed  in  the  moon-mist  to  be  a  mile  of  depth, 


SETINSILVER  371 

to  an  almost  tropical  garden  laid  out  on  the  wall  itself. 
When  the  tide  comes  in  and  drowns  the  gold  of  the  sands, 
the  sea  breaks  against  the  buttress  of  rock  and  stone,  and 
the  hotel  seems  all  surrounded  with  the  wash  and  foam 
of  waters,  like  a  fortified  castle  of  long-ago. 

We  ought  to  have  stopped  more  than  one  night  and 
part  of  a  next  day,  but  there  is  so  much,  so  much  to  do; 
and,  as  I  told  you,  Sir  Lionel's  thoughts  are  already 
marching  on  toward  home.  There  are  all  the  beauty 
spots  of  Wales  before  us;  and  the  Lake  Country,  and 
the  North  by  the  Roman  Wall,  before  we  turn  south 
again  for  Graylees.  I  say  "we"  — but  you  know  what 
I  mean. 

The  run  we  had  to-day,  coming  through  Cardigan  to 
Aberystwith,  has  begun  to  show  me  what  Wales  can  do 
in  the  way  of  beauty  when  she  really  puts  her  soul  to  it; 
but  Sir  Lionel  says  it  is  nothing  to  what  we  shall  see 
to-morrow.  What  joy  that  I  have  still  a  to-morrow  — 
and  a  day  after  to-morrow — empty  of  Dick!  Do  you 
suppose  a  condemned  person  finds  his  last  sip  of  life  the 
sweetest  in  the  cup  ?  I  can  imagine  it  might  be  so. 

You  '11  be  glad  to  get  this,  I  'm  sure,  dearest,  so  I  '11 
send  it  at  once,  with  loads  and  loads  of  love  from, 

YOUR  CRIMINAL  CHILD. 

P.  S.  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Aberystwith  isn't 
nearly  as  beautiful  as  Tenby,  but  it  has  a  castle  tower- 
ing over  the  sea,  built  by  no  one  less  than  Gilbert  Strongbow 
the  Cruel,  who  grabbed  all  Cardiganshire  for  himself, 
and  dotted  castles  about  everywhere  —  or  else  stole 
other  people's,  which  saved  trouble.  I  know  you  like 


372  SET  IN  SILVER 

to  picture  me  wherever  I  am,  so  I  must  tell  you  at  least 
that  about  Aberystwith,  though  describing  places  seems 
irrelevant  in  my  present  mood.  I  am  keyed  to  the 
"  top  notch,"  and  don't  feel  able  to  do  anything  leisurely. 
I  do  not  expect  to  sleep  to-night,  and  shall  get  up  as  soon 
as  it 's  light,  and  dart  down  to  the  beach  to  look  for  amber, 
or  carnelian,  or  onyx,  which  they  say  can  be  found  here. 
I  asked  a  chambermaid  of  the  hotel,  after  we  arrived  this 
evening,  what  all  the  mysterious,  stooping  people  were 
doing  on  the  sands,  and  she  said  searching  for  amber, 
to  bring  them  luck.  I  hope  I  may  come  across  a  bit  — 
even  a  tiny  bit.  I  am  needing  a  luck-bringer. 

There  was  another  mystery  which  puzzled  me  here: 
droves  of  pretty  girls,  between  twelve  and  twenty,  flit- 
ting past  the  windows,  on  "the  front,"  every  few  minutes; 
sometimes  two  by  two,  sometimes  four  or  five  together. 
I  thought  I  had  never  seen  so  many  young  girls. 
There  were  enough  for  the  girl  population  of  a  large 
city,  yet  here  they  were  all  crowded  together  in  this 
small  watering-place.  But  the  chambermaid  has  swept 
away  the  mystery.  It 's  a  college,  and  the  girls  "  live  out" 
in  different  houses.  At  the  other  end  of  the  town  is 
another  college  for  young  men.  That  sounds  entertaining, 
does  n't  it  ? 


XXXI 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Pen-y-gwrd-Hotel 

August  30th 

DEAR  ROSE-WITHOUT-A-THORN:  I  didn't  find  the 
amber,  but  Sir  Lionel  found  a  fat  little,  round  lump, 
and  gave  it  to  me;  and  that  seems  almost  more  lucky 
than  finding  it  myself;  because  it  may  mean  that  some- 
thing good  is  to  come  to  me  from  him. 

He  was  on  the  Aberystwith  beach  when  I  got  there, 
though  it  was  only  half-past  six.  He  had  n't  said  a 
word  the  night  before,  but  he  made  up  his  mind 
then  to  find  some  amber  —  for  me.  You  see,  he  knew 
the  superstition  about  luck,  and  how  everybody  goes 
hunting  for  it. 

I  picked  up  a  pretty  piece  of  carnelian,  and  gave  it 
to  him  in  exchange,  asking  him  "to  keep  it  to  remember 
me  by." 

"I  don't  want  to  remember  you,"  he  answered. 
And  when,  perhaps,  I  looked  hurt,  he  went  on: 
"Because  I  want  to  keep  you  in  my  life.  I  want  you 
very  much,  if " 

But  just  then  Mrs.  Senter  came  behind  us,  and  left  that 
"if"  like  a  key  sticking  in  a  door  which  couldn't  be 
opened  without  one  more  turn.  I  should  have  liked  to 
373 


374  SET  IN  SILVER 

know  what  was  behind  the  door;  but  I  daresay  there 
was  nothing  much,  really. 

She,  too,  had  come  to  look  for  amber  and  other  things. 
I  don't  know  about  the  other  things,  but  she  did  n't  find 
the  amber. 

At  eleven  o'clock,  after  seeing  something  of  the 
place,  we  slipped  away  toward  Machynlleth,  along  a 
hilly  road,  which  grew  lovelier  with  each  of  its  many 
twists  among  low  mountains.  Now,  said  Sir  Lionel, 
we  were  about  to  see  the  heart  of  Wales;  and  I  should 
soon  have  realized  that  without  his  telling,  for  as  we  slowed 
down  to  pass  through  little  villages  we  heard  the  children 
talking  Welsh  —  a  soft,  pleasant  language,  which  I 
can  only  try  to  describe  by  saying  that  it  sounded  like 
whispering  out  loud.  But  that  is  a  very  Irish 
description! 

The  scenery  was  so  gentle  in  its  beauty  that  my  wild, 
excited  mood  was  lulled  by  its  soft  influence.  The 
colour  of  landscape  and  sky  kept  the  delicate  tints  of 
spring,  though  we  are  in  full,  rich  summer;  and  there 
was  none  of  the  tropical  verdure  we  saw  near  Tenby; 
no  crimson  fountains  of  fuchsias,  no  billows  of  blood- 
red  roses,  and  fierce  southern  flowers.  Pale  honey- 
suckle draped  the  gray  or  whitewashed  stone  cottages. 
Rocks  and  crannies  of  walls  were  daintily  fringed  with 
ferns,  or  cushioned  with  the  velvet  of  moss,  and  crusted 
with  tarnished  golden  lichen.  A  modern-timbered 
house,  rising  pertly  here  and  there,  looked  out  of  place 
among  dwellings  whose  early  owners  quarried  each  stone 
from  among  their  own  mountains. 

As  we  left  the  fairy  glades  of  those  wooded  hills   for 


SET  IN  SILVER  375 

rugged  mountains  scantily  clad  with  ragged  grass,  slate- 
quarries  tried  their  ugly  best  to  blotch  and  spoil  the 
scene,  but  owing  to  some  strange  charm  of  atmosphere, 
like  a  gauze  veil  on  the  stage,  they  could  not  quite 
succeed.  By  and  by  the  gauze  veil  turned  to  rain,  but 
rain  suited  the  wild  landscape — far  better,  by  the 
way,  than  it  suited  Mrs.  Senter,  whose  nightly  hair- 
wavers  are  but  a  reed  to  lean  upon  in  wet  weather. 
She  made  some  excuse  to  come  behind  with  Emily 
and  me,  and  before  the  car  started  again  I  summoned 
courage  to  ask  if  I  might  take  her  place,  saying  I  loved 
to  feel  the  rain. 

So  there  I  was  with  Sir  Lionel  once  more;  and  I  won- 
dered if  he  thought  of  that  night  when  we  rushed  through 
the  storm  from  Tintagel  to  Clovelly?  Soon  this  also 
bade  fair  to  be  a  storm,  for  the  rain  began  to  tumble  out 
of  the  sky,  rather  than  fall,  as  if  an  army  of  people  stood 
throwing  down  water  by  the  bucketful.  I  revelled  in  it, 
and  in  the  sombre  scenery,  where  sharp  rocks  stood  out 
like  bones  through  the  tattered  green  coats  of  soldier- 
mountains.  All  the  world  was  gray  or  gray-green,  save 
for  a  patch  of  purple  heather  here  and  there,  like  the 
stain  of  a  new  wound. 

We  were  under  Cadir  Idris,  mounting  the  pass  high 
above  a  deep  ravine;  yet  the  blowing  rain  hid  the  moun- 
tain from  our  eyes  as  if  he  were  the  veiled  prophet. 
The  sound  of  the  wind,  which  seemed  to  come  from  all 
quarters  at  once,  was  like  the  mysterious  music  of  a 
great  ^Eolian  harp,  as  it  mingled  with  the  song  of 
ghostly  cascades  that  veined  the  dark  rocks  with  marble. 
Mountain  sheep  sprang  from  crag  to  crag  as  Apollo 


376  SET  IN  SILVER 

rounded  a  corner  and  broke  into  their  tranquil  lives, 
now  and  then  loosening  a  stone  as  they  jumped.  One 
good-sized  rock  would  have  bounced  down  on  the  roof 
of  our  car  if  Sir  Lionel  had  n't  seen  it  coming,  and  put 
on  such  a  spurt  of  speed  that  Apollo  leaped  ahead  of 
the  danger.  But  he  always  does  see  things  in  time. 
You  would  n't  think  sheep  could  have  as  much  expres- 
sion as  those  sheep  had,  when  they  saw  us  and  were  n't 
sure  which  way  to  run.  Of  course  they  need  n't  have 
run  at  all;  but  whichever  way  they  decided,  it  was 
certain  to  be  wrong! 

I  was  sorry  to  leave  that  pass  behind,  and  have  its 
door  shut  after  us,  for  we  came  out  into  a  pastoral  land- 
scape, where  the  only  wild  things  were  the  grazing  black 
cattle.  It  was  charming  country,  though;  and  in  less 
than  a  mile  we  had  reached  a  famous  spot  known  as  the 
Tourist  Walk.  The  rain  was  pelting  down  harder  than 
ever,  so  we  could  not  get  out  and  take  the  walk;  but  soon 
after  we  had  abandoned  it  the  deluge  suddenly  turned 
from  lead  to  a  thick  spray  of  diamonds,  mixed  with 
sparkling  gold-dust.  Our  road  glittered  ahead  of  us  like 
a  wide  silver  ribbon  unrolled,  as  we  sailed  into  the  little 
gray  town  of  Dolgelly  on  its  torrent  river;  and  beyond, 
in  a  fresh-washed  radiance  of  sunlight,  the  way  was  one 
long  enchantment,  the  sweet  world  of  green  hills  and 
musical  waters  looking  as  young  as  if  God  had  made 
it  that  day.  The  graceful  mountains  which  pressed 
round  the  valley  had  the  air  of  waiting  each  her  turn 
to  stoop  and  drink  a  life-giving  draught  from  the  river, 
which,  as  we  neared  Barmouth,  opened  to  the  sea,  gleam- 
ing like  a  vast  sheet  of  quicksilver.  Further  on,  travelling 


SET  IN  SILVER  377 

through  woods  where  young  green  trees  shot  up  from 
gilded  rocks,  glimpses  of  the  estuary  came  to  us  like  a 
vision  of  some  Italian  lake. 

Just  before  Harlech,  the  wild  yet  nymphlike  beauty 
of  the  world  changed  to  an  almost  startling  grandeur, 
for  the  coast  moved  back  from  the  sea  with  a  noble  sweep, 
magnificent  mountains  towered  along  the  shore,  and 
line  after  line  of  beryl  waves  shattered  into  pearl  upon  a 
beach  of  darkened  gold. 

Harlech  Castle  was  an  event  in  my  life.  I  thought  I 
had  begun  to  take  ruined  castles  for  granted  in 
Wales,  as  you  do  sea-shells  on  the  shore;  but  Harlech 
is  a  castle  that  you  could  n't  take  for  granted.  It  was 
a  shock  at  first  to  find  that  a  hotel  had  been  built  in  the 
very  face  of  it,  as  if  bearding  it  in  its  den;  yet  it  is  a 
nice  hotel;  and  when  we  had  lunched  there  agreeably, 
I  not  only  forgave  it  for  existing,  but  began  to  like  and 
thank  it  for  having  thoughtfully  placed  itself  on  that 
admirable  height. 

From  here  our  eyes  ought  to  have  been  smitten  with 
the  sight  of  Snowdon;  but  the  Grand  Old  Mountain 
was  asleep,  his  head  buried  in  white  cloud-pillows 
which  alone  betrayed  his  whereabouts;  so  we  had  to 
be  content  with  the  castle.  And  I  was  content. 
To  see  the  splendid  ruin  reared  on  its  great  rock, 
dark  against  sea  and  sky,  was  thrilling  as  a  vision 
of  an  old  wounded  knight  girding  his  strength  for  a 
last  stand. 

History  says  that  Harlech  Castle  is  no  older  than 
Edward  I.;  but  story  says  (which  is  more  important, 
because  more  romantic)  that  in  the  dim  dawn  while 


378  SET  IN  SILVER 

History  still  dozed,  here  rose  the  Tower  of  Twr  Brauwen, 
white-bosomed  sister  of  Bran  the  Blessed.  Also,  it  came 
into  the  possession  of  Hawis  Gadern,  a  great  beauty 
and  heiress,  whose  uncles  tried  to  wrest  it  from  her, 
but  were  defeated  and  imprisoned  in  the  castle.  Any- 
way, however  that  may  be,  Owen  Glendower  came  and 
conquered,  in  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
when  he  was  forging  a  chain  of  wonderful  deeds  which 
made  him  the  hero  of  Wales.  Never  mind  if  he  was 
driven  away  a  few  years  after  by  Prince  Henry.  That 's 
another  story. 

The  way  from  Harlech  by  Portmadoc  to  exquisite 
Pont  Aberglaslyn  and  Beddgelert  is  very  Arthurian; 
that  is,  it  suggests  pre-mediseval  backgrounds,  and  at 
every  turn  I  caught  myself  expecting  to  come  upon 
Camelot,  unspoiled,  unchanged.  The  high  mountains 
still  wore  their  invisibility  masks,  but  the  lower  moun- 
tains, not  too  proud  to  show  themselves  to  motoring 
mortals,  grouped  as  graciously  together  as  if  they 
were  lovely  ladies  and  gay  knights,  turned  to  stone 
just  when  they  had  assembled  to  tread  a  minuet. 
And  the  fair  Glaslyn  flowed  past  their  feet  with  a 
swing  and  sweep,  as  though  the  crystal  flood  kept 
time  to  dance  music  which  our  ears  were  not  attuned 
to  catch. 

Quickly  we  flashed  by  more  than  one  beautiful  lake, 
too;  a  jewel  hidden  among  mountains,  found  by 
our  eyes  unexpectedly,  only  to  be  lost  again.  And  all 
the  while  Cader  Idris  and  Snowdon  drew  hoods  of  mist 
over  their  heads,  pulling  them  down  tightly  and  firmly. 
Not  once  had  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  either  mountain, 


SET  IN    SILVER  379 

though  we  were  almost  near  enough  to  knock  our  noses 
or  Apollo's  bonnet  against  their  sharp  elbows;  but  we 
were  too  happy  to  care  much  —  at  least,  one  of  us  was !  — 
and  we  cared  even  less  when  rain  came  on  again.  I 
still  kept  my  place  beside  Sir  Lionel,  who  was  repentant 
for  having  made  me  cry  over  the  dreadful,  agonizing, 
too-tragic  story  of  Gelert.  I  won't  repeat  it  to  you, 
because  it 's  wickedly  sad,  and  gray  hound  Gelert  was  so 
much  nobler  than  most  people. 

Sheets  of  spun  glass  shimmered  and  waved  before  us, 
as  we  rushed  on  through  the  mountains,  past  the  beau- 
tiful place  of  Gelert's  grave,  up  toward  Pen-y-gwrd. 
And  the  tinkling  swish  of  the  rain  on  the  glass  sounded 
to  me  as  the  Welsh  names  had  begun  to  sound.  I  wish 
you  could  hear  them  spoken,  for  the  spelling  gives  no 
idea  of  their  pronunciation,  or  the  pleasant,  muffled 
music  of  them.  But  all  I  can  tell  you  is,  that  when 
you  come  into  Wales  you  will  feel  they  are  char- 
acteristic of  the  country;  mysterious,  sympathetic,  rather 
secretive. 

Sir  Lionel  was  happy  in  the  thought  of  Pen-y-gwrd, 
because  some  of  the  best  memories  of  his  boyhood 
are  associated  with  that  little  spot  in  the  moun- 
tainland  of  Wales.  He  used  to  come,  and  climb 
with  an  old  friend  a  few  years  older  than  himself,  a 
Colonel  O'Hagan,  who  is  in  Bengal  now,  and  who  — 
he  thinks  —  will  like  me.  Not  much  chance  of  our 
ever  meeting ! 

Just  as  Sir  Lionel  finished  quoting  Charles  Kingsley 
on  Pen-y-gwrd,  we  drew  up  in  front  of  a  low  gray  stone 
building;  and  Kingsley's  merry  words  rang  in  my  ears 


380  SET  IN  SILVER 

as  the  door  of  the  hotel  opened.     You  know  I  can  always 
remember  a  verse  after  having  once  heard  it. 

"There  is  no  Inn  in  Snowden  which  is  not  awful  dear, 
Excepting  Pen-y-gwrd  (you  can't  pronounce  it,  dear) 
Which  standeth  in  the  meeting  of  noble  valleys  three; 
One  is  the  Vale  of  Gwynant,  so  well  beloved  by  me; 
One  goes  to  Capel  Curig,  and  I  can't  mind  its  name; 
And  one,  it  is  Llanberis  Pass,  which  all  men  knew  the  same." 

Never  did  any  gesture  give  a  better  welcome  than  the 
opening  of  that  door!  We  'd  been  too  happy  to  know 
we  were  cold  with  the  chill  of  the  mountains  —  half -seen 
shapes  that  hovered  close,  with  white  cascades  like  ghosts 
flitting  ever  across  their  dimness;  but  when  a  glow  of 
firelight  streamed  out  to  greet  us,  suddenly  we  realized 
that  we  were  shivering. 

In  the  square  hall,  several  men  were  talking  together, 
men  with  Oxford  voices  and  open-air  faces.  In  their 
midst  was  one  man,  much  older,  grizzled  and  weather- 
beaten,  not  a  gentleman  in  the  conventional  sense,  yet 
in  listening  to  him  the  others  had  an  air  of  deference, 
as  if  he  were  a  hero  to  the  group.  The  four  or  five  figures 
stood  out  like  a  virile,  impressionist  sketch  in  black  and 
brown  on  a  red  background;  but  as  we  entered,  welcomed 
by  some  pink-cheeked  young  hostess,  the  ruddy  light 
danced  into  our  eyes.  The  men  in  front  of  the  fire 
moved  a  little  as  if  to  give  place,  and  glances  were  thrown 
at  us,  while  for  an  instant  the  conversation  flagged. 
Then  the  group  was  about  to  return  to  its  own  interests, 
when  suddenly,  out  from  among  the  rest  stepped  the 
grizzled  man.  He  hesitated,  as  if  uncertain  whether 
or  no  to  obey  an  impulse,  then  came  forward  with  a 
modest  yet  eager  air. 


SET  IN  SILVER  381 

"I  can't  be  mistaken,  sir,  can  I?  he  asked.  "It 
must  be  Mr.  Pendragon  —  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir  Li " 

"Why,  Penrhyn!"  cried  Sir  Lionel,  not  giving  him 
time  to  finish;  and  seizing  one  of  the  gnarled  brown 
hands,  he  shook  it  as  if  he  never  meant  to  stop.  Both 
their  faces  had  lighted  up,  and  were  beaming  with  joy. 
The  grizzled  man  seemed  to  have  thrown  off  fifteen 
years  in  a  minute,  and  Sir  Lionel  looked  like  a 
boy  of  twenty -two.  By  this  time  everyone  was 
gazing  —  staring  is  too  rude  a  word  —  and  the  other 
faces  were  beaming  as  well,  as  if  the  most  delightful 
thing  had  happened.  I  am  sure  that  Sir  Lionel  had 
forgotten  the  existence  of  us  three  females,  and  had 
rushed  back  to  the  bright  dawn  of  his  youth.  It  was 
the  light  of  that  dawn  I  saw  on  his  face;  and  I  found 
my  heart  beating  with  excitement,  though  I  did  n't 
know  why,  or  what  it  was  all  about. 

"By  Jove,  Penrhyn,  to  think  of  your  being  the  first 
man  to  greet  me  on  our  old  stamping-ground ! "  Sir  Lionel 
exclaimed.  "It  seems  too  good  to  be  true.  I've  been 
thinking  about  you  all  day,  and  your  face  is  a  sight  for 
sore  eyes." 

"  I  'd  rather  see  you,  sir,  than  have  a  thousand  pounds 
drop  down  on  me  through  the  ceiling,"  retorted  the 
mysterious  hero.  (I  should  think  so,  indeed.) 

They  shook  hands,  and  beamed  on  each  other  a  little 
more,  and  then  Sir  Lionel  remembered  his  flock.  Turn- 
ing to  us,  he  introduced  the  grizzled  man. 

"This  is  my  old  friend  and  guide,  Owen  Penrhyn," 
said  he,  as  if  he  were  drawing  us  into  the  circle  of  a  prince. 
-'There  never  was  a  guide  like  him  in  the  Welsh  mountains, 


382  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  never  will  be  again.  Jove!  it  's  glorious  to  find  him 
at  the  old  business  still!  Though,  in  our  day  together,  we 
did  n't  carry  this,  eh  ?  " 

Then  I  saw  that  an  Alpine  rope  was  coiled  across  one 
of  the  strong  shoulders  clad  in  rough  tweed,  and  that 
the  great  stout  boots  were  strikingly  trimmed  with  huge 
bright  nails. 

"  It 's  like  Sir  Lionel  to  put  the  praise  on  me,"  pro- 
tested the  dear  old  thing,  flushing  up  like  a  boy.  "Why, 
he  was  the  best  amateur"  (he  pronounced  the  word 
quaintly  and  I  loved  him  for  it)  "  I  ever  see,  or  ever  expect 
to  see.  If  he  'd  gone  on  as  he  began,  he  'd  a'  broken 
the  noses  of  some  of  us  guides.  Pity  he  had  to  go  to 
furrin'  parts!  And  I  '11  be  bound  he  never  told  you, 
ladies,  of  his  first  ascent  of  Twll  Ddu,  or  how  he  pulled 
me  up  out  of  the  torrent  by  sheer  strength,  when  my 
fingers  were  that  cold  I  couldn't  grip  the  hand-holds? 
I  'd  'a'  fallen  clear  to  the  bottom  of  the  Devil's  Kitchen 
if't  hadn't  been  for  Mr.  Pendragon,  as  he  was  then. 
And  what  d'  you  think,  ladies,  he  says,  when  I  accused 
him  o'  savin'  my  life?" 

"What?"  I  begged  to  know,  forgetting  to  give  my 
elders  a  chance  to  speak  first. 

"  '  Tommy  rot.'  That 's  his  very  words.  I  've  never 
forgot  'em.  'Tommy  rot.'  " 

He  beamed  on  us,  and  every  one  in  the  hall 
laughed,  except  perhaps  Emily,  who  smiled  doubtfully, 
not  sure  whether  or  no  it  was  to  her  brother's  credit 
to  have  remarked  "Tommy  rot"  in  such  a  crisis. 
But  after  that,  we  were  all  friends,  we,  and  Owen 
Penrhyn,  and  the  other  men,  too;  for  though  we  did  n't 


SET  IN  SILVER  383 

really  talk  to  them  till  dinner,  I  knew  by  their  eyes 
that  they  admired  Sir  Lionel  immensely,  and  wanted 
to  know  us  all. 

At  dinner  there  was  splendid  climbing  talk,  and  we 
heard  further  tales  of  Sir  Lionel's  prowess;  among  others 
of  a  great  jump  he  had  made  from  one  rock  of  Trifaen  to 
the  other,  with  only  a  little  square  of  rock  to  light  upon, 
just  on  the  edge  of  a  sheer  precipice;  a  record  feat, 
according  to  the  old  guide.  And  while  the  men  and 
we  women  listened,  the  wind  outside  raged  so  wildly  that 
now  and  then  it  seemed  as  if  a  giant  fell  against  the  house 
and  afterward  dashed  pebbles  against  it  in  his  fury. 
Then  again  the  wind-giant  would  rush  by  the  hotel 
in  his  hundred-horse-power  motor-car,  tooting  his  horn 
as  he  went.  It  was  nice  sitting  there*  in  the  comfortable 
dining-room,  listening  to  the  climbing  stories,  while  the 
wind  roared  and  could  n't  get  at  us,  and  the  whole  valley 
was  full  of  marching  rain! 

Now  I  am  writing  in  my  bedroom,  close  to  a  gossipy 
little  fire,  which  is  a  delightful  companion,  although 
August  has  still  a  day  to  run.  Mrs.  Senter  is  having 
her  beauty  sleep,  I  suppose;  and  I  should  think  Mrs. 
Norton  is  reading  Young's  "Night  Thoughts."  I  know 
she  takes  the  book  about  with  her.  The  men  are  still  in 
the  hall  downstairs,  very  happy,  if  one  can  judge  by  the 
laughter  that  breaks  out  often;  and  I  am  as  happy  as  I 
can  be  with  the  thought  of  Dick  probably  appearing  at 
Chester  day  after  to-morrow  night.  But  I  won't  let 
myself  think  of  that  too  much,  because  it  is  n't  certain 
that  he  will  get  back  then,  and  it  is  certain  that  there 
will  be  some  word  from  you,  which  may  change 


384  SETINSILVER 

everything.  You  see  what  faith  your  girl  has  in  you! 
But  would  n't  she  be  ungrateful  if  she  had  n't  ? 
^  There  is  one  other  thing  which  has  been  bothering  me 
in  odd  moments,  though,  and  I  wish  I  had  asked  your 
advice  about  that,  too,  in  the  letter  to  be  answered  at 
Chester;  but  the  idea  had  n't  occurred  to  me  then.  It 
suddenly  sprang  into  my  mind  last  night  when  I  was  lying 
in  bed,  not  able  to  go  to  sleep. 

Ought  I  to  repeat  to  Ellaline  what  Mrs.  Senter  told 
me  about  the  money?  I  don't  mean  the  part  about  the 
poor  child's  father  and  mother.  No  one  but  a  thorough 
Pig  of  the  Universe  would  tell  a  daughter  perfectly  unnec- 
essary horrors,  like  those;  but  about  her  not  being  an 
heiress  in  her  own  right,  and  depending  on  Sir  Lionel 
for  everything  except  two  hundred  a  year  ? 

If  I  were  really  in  her  place,  instead  of  pretending  to 
be,  I  should  want  to  know,  and  should  n't  thank  anyone 
for  keeping  the  truth  from  me.  It  would  be  unbearable 
to  accept  generosity  from  a  man,  thinking  I  might  be  as 
extravagant  as  I  liked,  with  my  own  money.  But  it  is 
difficult  to  make  up  my  mind,  on  account  of  the  -fiance. 
You,  being  French  yourself,  know  how  it  is  with  French 
officers  who  fall  in  love  with  a  girl  who  has  no  dot,  or  only 
a  small  one.  Most  of  them,  if  poor  themselves,  would 
slap  their  foreheads  and  despair,  but  think  it  their  duty 
to  their  country  to  forget  the  girl. 

I  'm  afraid  the  adorable  Honore  is  rather  poor;  and 
though  no  normal  young  man,  especially  a  Frenchman, 
could  help  being  fascinated  by  Ellaline  if  thrown  in  her 
society,  many  normal  young  men  would  be  more  ready 
to  let  themselves  go,  believing  her  to  be  an  heiress.  Per- 


SET  IN  SILVER  385 

haps  Honore  would  n't  have  proposed  if  he  had  n't  thought 
Ellaline  a  very  rich  as  well  as  a  very  pretty  girl.  Perhaps 
if  he  found  out  even  now,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  that  she 
depends  upon  a  person  whom  she  has  just  slighted  and 
deceived,  he  might  desert  her. 

Wouldn't  that  be  awful?  Not  that  I  think  Ellaline 
would  tell  him,  if  I  wrote  to  her  exactly  what  I  've  heard 
from  Mrs.  Senter.  Fascinating  as  she  is,  it  is  n't  in  her  to 
be  frank.  I  'm  sure  she  would  keep  the  secret  until  after 
her  lover  was  safely  her  husband;  but  she  would  be  upset 
and  even  more  anxious  about  the  future  than  she  is. 

I  don't  know  what  to  do.  And  in  the  last  letter  I  had 
from  her  she  scolded  me  for  continually  praising  Sir 
Lionel.  She  is  sure  I  am  mistaken  about  him,  and  that, 
if  I  can  see  any  good  under  the  dragon's  scales  the  evil 
monster  must  have  hypnotized  me.  She  really  seemed 
quite  vexed.  Maybe  I  shall  hear  from  her  at  Chester. 
I  hope  so,  as  I  'm  rather  worried  because  she  did  n't 
write  to  the  last  address  I  was  able  to  give. 

Whatever  message  your  expected  letter  or  telegram  has 
for  me,  I  will  answer  it  at  once. 

Good  night,  dearest  little  Dame  Wisdom,  with  more 
love  than  ever  from 

Your 

AUDRIE. 

I  'm  so  glad  we  are  staying  here  all  day  to-morrow 
and  to-morrow  night.  There  are  dozens  of  beautiful 
things  to  see;  and  besides,  it  is  as  safe  as  the  inmost  circle 
of  a  labyrinth  from  Dick,  who  has  no  clue. 


XXXII, 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Queen's  Hotel,  Chester 

September  1st 

WE  'VE  been  in  Chester  for  several  hours,  my  Angel ; 
and  not  only  is  there  no  Dick  (for  which  heaven  be 
praised),  but  no  word  from  you,  which  worries  me. 
Still,  I  shan't  be  really  anxious  unless  on  my  second  call 
at  the  post-office  (to  be  made  by  and  by)  I  draw  a  blank 
again.  At  least,  I  did  n't  draw  a  blank  exactly  when 
I  went  there  before.  I  drew  a  letter  from  Ellaline,  with 
vexing  news.  Honore  de  Guesclin  is  in  a  scrape.  He 
could  get  leave  now,  and  come  to  her,  but  he  and  some 
of  his  brother  officers  have  been  amusing  themselves  by 
learning  to  play  bridge.  Naturally,  those  who  played 
best  came  off  best,  and  Honore  was  n't  one  of  them. 
He  has  borrowed  of  a  money-lender,  and  is  in  a  hole, 
because  the  fellow  won't  let  him  have  more,  and  is 
bothering  for  a  settlement.  Also,  Honore  owes  some  of 
his  friends,  and  has  n't  a  penny  to  pay  up  or  start  on  a 
journey.  Ellaline  does  n't  seem  to  think  much  about 
the  moral  aspect  of  her  Honore's  affairs  (you  see,  she 
knows  nothing  of  what  her  mother  must  have  suffered 
from  her  father's  penchant),  but  she  is  in  a  great  state 
of  nerves  about  the  delay.  She  has  always  been  told  it 
386 


SETINSILVER  387 

was  bad  Tuck  to  put  off  a  wedding,  and  besides,  she  finds 
Scotland  triste,  and  wants  to  be  married. 

You  can  guess  to  what  all  this  is  leading  up!  I  must 
get  money,  somehow,  anyhow,  but  a  great  deal,  and 
immediately.  I  must  send  her  at  least  four  thousand 
francs  by  return  of  post;  five  thousand,  if  possible;  but 
if  "Monsieur  le  Dragon  is  too  stingy  to  give  more,  at 
all  events  nothing  less  will  be  of  the  least  use." 

It  's  easy  for  her  to  dictate  terms.  She  has  n't  got  to 
face  the  very  upright  and  honourable  gentleman  whom 
she  calls  the  Dragon,  whereas  I  have;  and  I  've  already 
shamed  myself  by  asking  for  large  sums  at  short  inter- 
vals. I  simply  can't  go  to  him  here  and  "hold  him 
up"  for  four  thousand  francs.  It  would  be  monstrous, 
and  if  he  asked  what  I  wanted  to  do  with  it  (as  it  seems 
to  me  it  would  be  only  his  duty  to  ask  the  young  school- 
girl he  thinks  me)  I  should  be  able  to  find  no  decent 
excuse,  as  I  have  no  expenses  beyond  those  he  pays. 
However,  I  shall  have  to  do  something  desperate,  I  don't 
know  yet  what.  He  has  given  me  some  pretty  things, 
and  though  I  hate  the  thought  of  parting  with  them 
in  such  a  way,  as  they  're  Ellaline's  by  rights,  it  's  no 
more  than  fair  she  should  benefit  by  them  in  the  hour  of 
her  need.  Poor  girl!  Of  course  there's  nothing  for 
it  but  she  must  marry  the  young  man  now,  yet  it  seems 
a  poor  outlook,  does  n't  it  ? 

She  explains  in  a  P.  S.  that  she  was  too  upset  to  write 
me  to  the  last  place,  as  she  had  n't  heard  from  Honore 
when  she  expected;  but  now,  if  the  money  is  forth- 
coming all  right  he  will  start  for  Scotland  as  soon  as 
possible  after  receiving  it  from  her,  and  settling  up. 


388  SETINSILVER 

I  have  calculated  times  as  well  as  I  could,  and  fancy  that 
if  I  can  in  any  way  send  her  a  post-office  order  from 
Chester  to-morrow,  she  and  Honore  may  be  able  to  marry 
in  a  week.  Once  I  should  n't  have  believed  I  could 
be  sorry  to  have  my  "principal"  arrive  and  take  back 
her  own  part;  but  now,  if  it  weren't  for  Dick  Burden, 
it  would  actually  be  a  temptation  to  me  to  delay  Ellaline's 
appearance  on  the  scene.  Of  course,  I  would  n't  be  such 
a  wicked  wretch  as  to  yield  to  the  temptation,  but  I  should 
feel  it. 

Ellaline  promises  to  telegraph  the  moment  Honore 
arrives,  and  again  when  they  're  safely  married,  so  as  to 
give  the  understudy  plenty  of  time  to  scuttle  off  the  stage, 
before  the  guardian  is  informed  that  his  charge  has  been 
taken  off  his  hands.  She  does  n't  want  to  see  Sir  Lionel, 
she  says,  but  she  and  Honore  will  write  him  unless,  when 
Honore  has  consulted  a  Scottish  solicitor  (if  that 's  what 
they  're  called),  it 's  considered  wiser  for  the  lawyer  him- 
self to  write.  So  you  see,  this  makes  it  harder  for  me 
to  know  what  to  do  about  repeating  Mrs.  Senter's  story. 
If  Ellaline  understood  her  position  she  would,  perhaps, 
think  it  better  to  come  with  her  bridegroom  and  throw 
herself  at  her  injured  guardian's  feet. 

What  a  nice  world  this  would  be  if  your  affairs  did  n't 
get  so  hopelessly  tangled  up  with  other  people's  that 
you  can  hardly  call  your  conscience  your  own!  And 
never  have  I  realized  the  niceness  of  the  world  more 
fully  than  in  the  last  few  days. 

Yesterday  I  had  a  little  easy  climb  with  Sir  Lionel 
and  the  old  guide,  and  saw  the  glory  of  Llanberis  Pass. 
To-day,  on  the  wings  of  Apollo,  we  have  flown  through 


SET  IN  SILVER  389 

amazingly  interesting  country.  It  really  did  seem  like 
flying,  because  the  road  surface  was  so  like  velvet  stretched 
over  elastic  steel  that  eyesight  alone  told  us  we  touched 
earth. 

Miles  are  n't  tyrants  any  more,  but  slaves  to  the  mas- 
tery of  good  motor-cars;  and  any  motoring  Monte  Cristo 
can  fairly  exclaim,  "The  world  is  mine!"  (N.  B.  This 
is  n't  original.  Sir  Lionel  said  it  at  lunch.)  From 
North  Wales  to  Cheshire  looks  a  long  run  on  the 
map,  but  motors  are  made  to  live  down  maps;  and  we 
arrived  in  this  astonishingly  perfect  old  town  early  in 
the  afternoon,  coming  by  way  of  Capel  Curig  (whence  we 
saw  Snowdon  crowned  with  a  double  rainbow),  sweet 
Bettws-y-coed,  or  "station  in  the  wood,"  and  so  down 
the  river  valley  in  a  bird  swoop,  to  noble  Con  way,  with 
its  castle  that  was  once  a  famous  Welsh  fortress.  Now, 
in  piping  days  of  peace,  its  towers  and  turrets  still  dom- 
inate bridge  and  river,  and  the  great  pile  is  as  fine,  in  its 
way,  as  Carcassone.  Don't  you  remember,  it  was 
from  Conway  Castle  that  Richard  the  Second  started 
out  to  meet  Bolingbroke  ? 

We  stopped  to  take  photographs  and  buy  a  few  small 
pearls  from  the  "pearl-breeding  river";  and  while  we 
gazed  our  fill  at  the  mighty  monument,  we  learned  from 
a  guardian  that  in  old  days  a  certain  Lady  Erskine  hired 
the  castle  for  six  shillings  and  eightpence  a  year,  in 
addition  to  a  "dish  of  fish  for  the  Queen,"  when  her 
majesty  chanced  to  pass! 

At  Colwyn  Bay  we  lunched  early,  at  a  charming 
hotel  in  a  garden  above  a  sea  of  Mediterranean  blue; 
and  the  red-roofed  town  along  the  shore  reminded  me 


390  SET  IN  SILVER 

of  Dinard.  After  that,  coming  by  Abergele  and 
Rhuddlan  to  Chester,  the  way  was  no  longer  through  a 
region  of  romance  and  untouched  beauty.  There  were 
quarries,  which  politely  though  firmly  announced  their 
hours  of  blasting,  and  road  users  accommodated  themselves 
to  the  rules  as  best  they  might.  But  there  were  castles 
on  the  heights,  as  well  as  quarries  in  the  depths;  and 
though  Sir  Lionel  says  that  inhabitants  of  Wales 
never  think  of  turning  to  look  at  such  a  "  common  object 
of  the  seashore"  as  a  mere  castle,  I  have  n't  come  to  that 
state  of  mind  yet. 

Near  Rhuddlan  there  was  a  tremendous  battle  at  the 
end  of  the  seventh  century,  out  of  which  so  many  fine 
songs  have  been  made  that  the  Welsh  princes  and  nobles 
who  were  slain  have  never  lost  their  glory.  There  's 
a  castle,  too  (of  course),  but  the  best  thing  that  happened 
for  us  was  a  gloriously  straight  road  like  a  road  of  France, 
and  as  nobody  was  on  it  save  ourselves  at  that  moment, 
we  did  about  six  miles  before  the  next  moment,  when 
others  might  claim  a  share.  I  believe  the  Holyhead  road 
is  very  celebrated. 

Soon  we  had  to  turn  our  backs  upon  a  mystic  mountain- 
land  that  ringed  us  in,  and  face  the  sea  once  more  — 
a  wide  water-horizon  whose  line  was  broken  with  great 
ships  steaming  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  Liverpool. 

Apollo  had  seemed  a  little  faint  before  luncheon, 
because  of  some  inner  disturbance,  but  he  was  flying 
fast  as  a  saint  on  his  way  to  Paradise  as  we  crossed  the 
Dee,  into  England  out  of  Wales,  and  sprang  into  Glad- 
stone country. 

When  people  are  obliged  to  reach  a  town  by  rail,  there 


SET  IN  SILVER  391 

must  be  disappointments  to  lovers  of  the  picturesque, 
as  you  and  I  know  by  experience.  It 's  like  arriving  at  a 
house  by  the  tradesmen's  entrance;  but  with  a  motor  one 
sails  up  to  the  front  door  through  the  park. 

Of  all  the  towns  to  which  Apollo  has  brought  us,  the 
entrance  to  Chester  to-day  was  the  best.  The  first  effect 
of  colour  left  on  my  eyes  the  impression  of  sunset-red, 
warm  as  copper  beeches.  The  place  seemed  to  be  lit 
with  fading  firelight,  and  I  wondered  at  the  soft  glow 
everywhere,  until  I  realized  that  the  big  buildings  —  the 
Cathedral,  the  great  houses  and  the  old  city  wall  —  were 
all  made  of  rosy  sandstone. 

You  can't  imagine  how  a  large  town  which  has  lived 
as  long  as  Chester  has,  and  gone  on  growing,  could  have 
contrived  to  remain  so  satisfyingly  beautiful,  or  keep  such 
an  air  of  old-time  completeness.  But  the  secret  is,  I 
suppose,  that  Chester  is  "canny"  as  well  as  "bonny," 
and,  being  wise,  she  refused  to  throw  away  her  precious 
antique  garments  for  glaring  new  ones.  When  she  had 
to  add  houses,  or  even  shops,  wherever  possible  she  repro- 
duced the  charm  and  quaintness  of  the  black  and  white 
Tudor  or  Stuart  buildings  which  are  Chester's  intimate 
treasures. 

Of  course,  I  've  seen  little  of  the  place  yet;  but  after  I 
had  been  to  the  post-office,  I  strolled  about  before  coming 
back  to  the  hotel,  partly  to  recover  from  my  disappointment 
in  not  hearing  from  you,  partly  because  I  was  so  bewitched 
with  my  first  glimpse  that  I  could  n't  bear  to  come  indoors 
still  a  stranger  to  the  town.  Hovering  in  front  of  the 
Cathedral  (a  curious  building,  black  in  its  oldest  parts, 
bright  pink  where  it  has  been  renovated)  I  saw  Sir  Lionel 


392  SET  IN  SILVER 

and  Mrs.  Norton  coming.  That  was  awkward,  because 
I  had  said  I  wanted  to  "settle  in"  before  sight-seeing, 
but  I  explained  vaguely  that  I  'd  changed  my  mind,  and 
was  invited  to  go  into  the  Cathedral  with  them.  Perhaps 
it  was  because  Emily  was  with  us  that  nothing  seemed  very 
wonderful  in  the  interior  —  unless  the  carved  oak  in  the 
choir  —  but  the  cloisters  are  beautiful,  and  I  liked  the 
chapter  house. 

After  "doing"  the  Cathedral,  Mrs.  Norton  was  tired, 
so  Sir  Lionel  and  I  had  a  walk  alone,  an  adventure  Mrs. 
Senter  would  never  have  allowed  if  she  'd  guessed  I  was 
out  of  my  room.  She  is  a  dog  in  the  manger  about 
walks.  She  hates  them  herself,  but  she  won't  let  other 
people  take  them  without  her  if  she  can  help  it. 

We  dropped  Emily  at  the  hotel,  and  had  a  delicious 
ramble  (speaking  for  myself!)  through  the  four  extraordi- 
nary streets  which  stand  for  much  in  Chester's  peculiar 
fame.  Wandering  there,  it  was  easy  to  believe  what  the 
guide-books  say:  that  nowhere  in  Great  Britain  does  a 
town  exist  which  so  preserves  the  ancient  character  of  all 
its  architecture.  I  don't  know  if  there  are  British  relics; 
but  the  city  wall  and  gates  are  Roman,  part  of  the  castle, 
too;  and  since  mediaeval  days  nothing  seems  to  have  lost 
in  picturesqueness.  People  come  from  all  over  the  world 
to  see  the  Rows:  streets  dug  out  below  the  rock-surface 
on  which  the  town  was  originally  built,  having  shops  and 
even  warehouses  on  their  level,  with  galleries  above,  open 
fronted,  stone-paved,  balustraded  with  black  oak,  so  that 
these  "Rows"  ah1  look  as  if  the  houses  were  wide  open, 
communicating  with  one  another.  The  carved  oak 
fronts  of  the  houses  and  shops,  done  ingeniously  with 


SETINSILVER  393 

strange  pargetting,  and  adorned  with  wondrous  windows, 
are  so  adorably  queer,  with  their  stagey  effects,  that  I 
don't  wonder  Chester  has  become  a  kind  of  Mecca  for 
travellers  from  my  native  land,  where  most  things  are  new. 

When  we  had  thus  skimmed  a  little  of  the  cream  from 
the  town  itself,  we  had  a  walk  on  the  old  wall,  while 
church  bells,  near  and  distant,  chimed;  but  still  I  don't 
feel  I  've  more  than  glanced  at  the  place.  To-morrow 
we  plan  to  run  out  to  Knutsford,  which  is  Mrs.  Gaskell's 
Cranford  really,  and  I  have  begged  to  start  early,  because 
if  we  do  (though  naturally  I  don't  allege  this  reason) 
we  can  get  off  before  Dick  arrives.  Then,  when  we 
come  back,  we  can  do  more  sight-seeing,  and  maybe  be 
out  when  he  turns  up  at  the  hotel.  After  that  event, 
unless  you  save  me  to-night  with  some  miraculous  sug- 
gestion, all  pleasure  will  be  over.  And  at  best,  I  'm  not 
looking  forward  with  undiluted  joy  to  to-morrow,  because 
I  must  not  only  decide  what  to  do  for  Ellaline,  but  do  it. 

While  I  was  walking  on  the  wall  with  Sir  Lionel  just 
now,  gazing  up  at  watch-towers,  or  down  over  the  town, 
and  dodging  seedy  amateur  guides  whom  we  nicknamed 
"Wallers,"  I  kept  thinking,  thinking,  about  what  to  sell. 
The  only  thing  Sir  Lionel  has  given  me  of  really  great 
value,  which  could  be  easily  disposed  of,  is  the  ruby 
and  diamond  ring.  But  how  it  would  hurt  me  to  give  it 
up  in  such  a  sordid  way!  It  was  my  birthday  present 
from  him,  and  it 's  associated  in  my  mind  with  that  night 
of  moonlight  in  the  New  Forest  when  I  first  knew  I  cared. 
But  I  'm  sorely  afraid  it  must  be  the  thing  to  go.  There 
are  several  important-looking  antique  shops  here,  and  I 
noticed,  when  casting  my  eye  about,  one  where  they  make 


394  SET  IN  SILVER 

a  speciality  of  curious  and  rare  jewellery.  I  shall  look 
at  it  again  more  carefully  when  I  run  out  to  the  post-office, 
in  a  few  minutes,  and  perhaps  I  may  have  courage  to  try 
and  strike  a  bargain,  so  as  to  send  the  money  off  in  the 
morning  before  Knutsford  —  if  I  get  it 

An  hour  later. 

Dearest,  I  've  got  your  wire,  now,  having  retrieved  it 
from  the  Poste  Restante,  and  I  'm  thankful  for  it  — 
thankful  that  you  're  well,  thankful  that  you  don't  blame 
me  for  anything  I  've  done,  faults  committed  or  mistakes 
made.  But — alas,  I  don't  think  the  advice,  good  as 
it  is,  will  be  of  any  use  to  me.  You  see,  you  don't  know 
Mrs.  Senter.  It  would  be  hopeless  for  me  to  try  and 
force  her  to  exert  authority  over  Dick  Burden. 

In  the  first  place,  she  has  no  real  authority,  as  apparently 
he  has  no  expectations  from  her;  and  in  the  second 
place,  though  I  'm  almost  sure  she  does  n't  know  the 
truth  about  me  and  Ellaline,  she  suspects  that  Dick  has  a 
hold  over  me;  and  after  all  I  've  submitted  to  from  him 
already  it  would  be  impossible  to  "bluff"  her  into  the 
belief  that  I  'd  dare  ask  Sir  Lionel  to  send  them  both 
away.  No,  my  dear  one,  there  's  little  hope  for  me  in 
that  scheme.  I  allowed  Ellaline  to  make  my  bed  for 
me,  and  I  must  lie  in  it,  although  it  has  proved  to  be  one 
of  those  nasty  folding  ones  that  will  shut  and  swallow  me 
up  in  a  trap. 

No,  it 's  cowardly  to  whine  like  that.  It  won't  be 
pleasant  to  keep  my  promise  to  Dick;  but  there  have 
been  worse  things;  and  I  shall  probably  be  able  to 
escape  before  long.  Anyhow  it  will  all  be  the  same  a 


SET  IN  SILVER  395 

hundred  years  hence.  As  soon  as  I  am  with  you  again 
it  will  be  as  if  nothing  had  happened;  and  meanwhile  I 
am  going  to  keep  a  "stiff  upper  lip."  It  mayn't  be 
becoming,  but  that  won't  matter,  as  Sir  Lionel  will  never 
look  at  me;  and  you  will  see  by  my  letters  in  future  how 
well  I  am  getting  on. 

Best  love  to  my  best  loved, 

From 

AUDRIE. 


XXXIII 

SIR  LIONEL  PENDRAGON  TO  COLONEL  PATRICK 
O'HAGAN 

Keswick  Hotel,  September  3rd 

MY  DEAR  PAT:  Here  we  are,  you  see,  in  the  "happy 
hunting  ground"  where  you  and  I  used  to  hunt 
such  shy  game  as  chimneys,  needles,  crevices,  etc.,  etc.; 
and  if  I  'm  not  as  happy  in  it  now  as  I  ought  to  be,  that 
is  n't  the  fault  of  the  country,  which  is  as  fair  as  it  ever 
was  —  the  fairest  in  England,  perhaps. 

It  just  happens,  unfortunately,  that  I  've  been  rubbed 
up  the  wrong  way  before  coming  to  the  places  I  'd 
looked  forward  to  revisiting  more  than  any  other,  except 
Cornwall;  and  if  I  had  n't  invited  dear  old  Penrhyn 
from  Pen-y-gwrd  to  meet  me  here,  and  have  a  climb, 
I  'm  not  sure  I  should  have  stopped.  However,  I  have 
enjoyed  the  beauty  of  the  run.  I  must  have  been  as 
blind  as  a  mole,  and  as  earthy,  if  I  had  n't. 

Fine  road  from  Chester  to  Liverpool,  which  city  had 
an  air  of  opulent  magnificence  seen  from  the  ferry,  as 
we  neared  her  —  rather  like  a  huge,  modern  Venice. 
Lunched  there,  at  the  Adelphi,  on  the  fat  of  the  land, 
and  had  some  trouble  finding  the  way  out  of  town. 
Liverpool  welcomes  the  coming,  but  does  n't  speed  the 
parting  guest;  not  a  sign-post  in  sight  anywhere.  Bad 
396 


SETINSILVER  397 

pave  till  Ormskirk,  when  things  improved,  growing 
better  and  better;  but  no  scenery  to  speak  of  until  near 
Preston.  Villages  all  along  the  line,  stone-paved;  struck 
me  as  being  characteristic  of  that  stern  North  Country 
which  we  approached.  '"Road  too  good  not  to  mean 
police-traps,"  said  I  to  myself;  and  an  A.  A.  scout  warned 
me  that  they  swarmed;  but  luckily  we  were  not  held  up. 
I  was  n't  in  a  temper  to  have  taken  any  nonsense  lying 
down,  I  'm  afraid. 

Ran  straight  through  Lancaster,  which  was  almost  a 
pity,  as  John  o'  Gaunt's  Castle  is  a  brave  old  fortress, 
whether  or  no  he  really  built  the  famous  tower;  and  at 
the  King's  Arms  we  might  have  got  some  genuine  oat- 
cakes, which  would  have  given  a  taste  of  Cumberland 
to  the  strangers.  As  it  was,  the  first  truly  characteristic 
things  we  came  upon  were  the  stout  stone  walls,  on  which 
we  happened  a  little  short  of  Kendal.  Down  to  Winder- 
mere,  a  steep  but  beautiful  run;  Mrs.  Senter  by  my  side, 
and  very  enthusiastic.  She  seems  to  take  an  unaffected 
interest  in  scenery,  with  which  you  would  hardly  have 
credited  her  in  old  times.  She  was  entranced  by  her 
first  sight  of  the  lake,  which  is  not  surprising,  for 
to  one  who  has  never  seen  them  the  lakes  must  be 
a  revelation. 

Dick  Burden,  by  the  way,  was  not  with  us  on  this  run, 
nor  was  he  at  Chester.  He  had  business  in  London, 
which  kept  him  longer  than  he  expected  when  he  left 
our  party  at  Tintern.  I  can't  say  I  regret  him,  though 
others  may.  I  understand  that  there  has  been  some 
telegraphing  between  him  and  his  aunt,  and  that  his 
present  intention  is  to  rejoin  us  at  Newcastle.  Rather 


398  SET  IN  SILVER 

wish  he  would  put  off  his  return  a  little  longer,  as  it  is 
arranged  that  we  go  out  to  Cragside  and  Bamborough 
Castle;  and  one  does  n't  like  to  abuse  such  delightful 
hospitality  as  we  have  been  offered  there.  Dick's 
presence  does  not  add  to  the  gaiety  of  nations,  it  seems 
to  me,  and  I  am  not  keen  on  taking  him. 

I  found  Penrhyn  waiting  for  me  here,  the  good  fellow, 
delighted  at  the  prospect  of  his  short  visit,  and  to-morrow 
he  and  I  will  have  some  small  climb.  I  shall  send  the 
car,  with  Young  Nick  to  drive  all  who  care  to  go,  to  a  few 
of  the  beauty  spots,  while  I  am  otherwise  occupied. 
They  must  penetrate  the  cloistered  charms  of  exquisite 
Borrodaile,  and  of  course  see  Lodore,  which  ought  to  be 
at  its  best  now,  as  there  have  been  heavy  rains.  Jove! 
How  the  Cumberland  names  ring  on  the  ear,  like  the 
"horns  of  elfland"!  Helvelyn;  Rydal;  Ennerdale; 
Derwent  Water;  Glaramara!  Aren't  they  all  as  crystal 
as  the  depths  of  mountain  tarns,  or  that  amethystine 
colour  of  the  sky  behind  the  clear  profiles  of  high  peaks  ? 

I  'm  sorry  we  're  too  late  for  the  Grasmere  Sports ; 
but  the  fact  is  we  have  lingered  by  the  way  longer  than  I 
planned  for  this  trip;  and  now,  as  things  are  turning  out 
I  'm  inclined  to  cut  the  end  of  the  tour  short.  Gray  lees 
is  practically  ready  for  occupation,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  ought 
to  be  there. 

No!  That  isn't  good  enough  for  you,  old  chap. 
It 's  true,  as  far  as  it  goes;  but  you  have  begun  to  read 
between  the  lines  by  this  time,  I  know,  and  I  may  as 
well  speak  out.  I  should  be  an  ostrich  if  I  were  n't  sure 
that  you  've  been  saying  to  yourself:  "Why  does  n't  this 
fellow  refer  to  the  girl  he  has  spent  so  much  pen  and 


SETINSILVER  399 

paper  on  ?  Why  does  he  go  out  of  his  way  to  avoid 
mentioning  her  name?" 

Well,  she  has  n't  eloped,  or  done  anything  culpable. 
But  there  is  no  use  concealing  from  you,  as  I  have  told 
you  so  much,  that  she  has  hurt  me  to  the  quick.  Not 
that  she  has  been  unkind,  or  rude,  or  disagreeable. 
Quite  the  contrary.  And  that 's  the  worst  of  it,  for  I 
prayed  to  heaven  that  there  might  be  nothing  of  her 
mother  in  this  young  soul.  At  first,  as  you  know,  I  could 
hardly  believe  the  girl  to  be  all  she  seemed,  but  soon  she 
won  me  to  thinking  her  perfection  —  a  lily,  grown  by 
some  miracle  of  Nature  in  a  soil  where  weeds  had  flourished 
hitherto.  I  would  have  given  my  right  hand  rather  than 
have  to  admit  a  flaw  in  her  —  that  is,  the  one  fatal  flaw : 
slyness  hidden  under  apparent  frankness,  which  means 
an  inherited  tendency  to  deceit. 

This  may  sound  as  if  I  had  found  the  poor  child  out 
in  a  lie.  But  there  has  been  no  spoken  lie.  She  has 
only  done  the  sort  of  thing  I  might  have  expected  Ellaline 
de  Nesville's  daughter  to  do. 

I  told  you  about  the  ring  I  bought  her  at  Winchester, 
and  gave  her  on  her  birthday;  how  prettily  she  received  it; 
how  she  seemed  to  treasure  it  more  because  of  the  thought 
and  the  association  than  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  ruby 
and  the  brilliants. 

At  Chester,  the  night  before  we  left,  I  thought  I  'd 
try  to  pick  up  some  little  souvenir  of  the  town  for  her, 
as  she  was  delighted  with  the  place.  Of  course  I  wanted 
something  small,  as  our  luggage  is  n't  of  the  expanding 
order,  so  I  had  the  idea  of  jewellery;  a  little  antique  pen- 
dant, or  a  few  old  paste  buttons.  There  is  a  certain 


400  SET  IN  SILVER 

shop  in  the  "Rows"  where  one  looks  for  such  things, 
and  expects  to  find  them  good,  if  highly  priced.  In  the 
window  of  that  shop  I  saw  displayed  for  sale  the  ring  I 
had  given  to  Ellaline! 

The  sight  of  it  there  was  a  blow;  but  I  persuaded  myself 
I  might  be  mistaken;  that  it  wasn't  the  same  ring,  but 
another,  almost  a  duplicate.  I  went  in  and  asked  to 
look  at  it.  The  shopman  mentioned  that  it  was  some- 
thing quite  unusually  good,  and  had  "  only  come  in  "  that 
afternoon.  Inside  I  found  the  date  which  I  had  had 
engraved  on  the  ring;  the  date  of  Ellaline's  birthday. 
I  bought  it  back  —  for  a  good  deal  more  than  I  paid  in 
Winchester,  as  this  chap  knew  his  business  thoroughly; 
but  that  is  a  detail.  It  was  merely  to  satisfy  a  kind  of 
sentimental  vanity  that  I  wanted  to  get  the  thing  out  of 
the  window  and  into  my  own  hands;  for,  needless  to  say, 
I  don't  intend  to  speak  of  the  matter  at  all  to  Ellaline. 
It  would  humiliate  me  more  than  it  would  her,  to  let  her 
see  that  I  know  what  she  did  with  her  birthday  present; 
for  partly,  I  blame  myself.  I  supposed  that  I  was  fairly 
free-handed  with  money,  and  had  no  idea  that  the  girl 
could  possibly  want  more  than  she  had.  Still,  I  told  her 
to  let  me  know  in  case  she  found  me  thoughtless,  and  not 
to  hesitate  to  ask  for  anything  she  wanted.  She  could 
have  had  as  much  as  she  chose,  and  I  would  have  put 
no  questions.  If  I  'd  been  surprised  with  the  largeness 
of  the  sums,  I  should  have  believed  that  she  had  some 
pensioners  to  whom  she  wished  to  be  charitable;  for  I 
had  begun  to  believe  that  she  could  do  no  wrong. 

As  I  said,  there  was  nothing  culpable  in  selling  the  ring. 
It  was  hers.  She  had  a  right  to  do  as  she  liked  with  it. 


SET  IN  SILVER  401 

But  that  she  should  like  to  part  with  it;  that  she  should 
do  so,  knowing  I  would  hate  it  if  I  knew;  that  she  should 
be  exactly  the  same  with  me  as  if  she  had  n't  done  a 
thing  which  she  was  aware  would  distress  me;  that  she 
had  n't  the  courage  and  frankness  to  come  to  me  and 
say 

Oh,  hang  it  all,  I  'm  grumbling  and  complaining  like 
an  old  prig!  Perhaps  I  am  one.  I  know  Dick  Burden 
thinks  so.  We  '11  let  it  go  at  that.  I  don't  need  to 
explain  to  you  a  matter  which  outwardly  is  insignificant, 
and  is  significant  to  me  only  for  reasons  which  the  past 
will  account  for  to  you  better  than  my  explanations. 

The  salt  has  gone  out  of  life  a  bit,  and  I  think  it  will 
do  me  good  to  get  to  Graylees,  where  I  shall  find  a  thou- 
sand things  to  interest  me.  I  daresay  Ellaline  will  be 
glad  to  settle  down,  though  she  is  too  polite  to  show  it; 
and  I  'm  sure  Emily  will. 

After  a  look  at  the  Roman  Wall,  and  a  sight  of  Barn- 
borough,  we  shall  run  to  Warwickshire  with  few  detours 
or  pauses. 

You  see,  by  the  way,  that  you  were  wrong  in  thinking 
she  could  care.  If  there  had  been  the  least  warmth  in 
her  heart  for  me  she  could  n't  have  sold  my  ring.  I  'm 
glad  I  did  n't  make  a  fool  of  myself. 

Penrhyn  wants  to  be  remembered  to  you. 

Yours  ever, 
PEN. 


XXXIV 

SIR  LIONEL  PENDRAGON  TO  COLONEL  O'HAGAN 

County  Hotel,  Newcastle 

September  5th 

MY  DEAR  PAT:  You  '11  be  surprised  to  get  another 
letter  from  me  on  the  tail  of  the  last,  but  there  have 
been  developments  in  which  I  think  you  will  be  interested. 

The  sale  of  the  ring  was  a  mere  preface  to  what  has 
followed. 

We  arrived  at  Newcastle  this  afternoon,  finding  Burden 
already  here.  I  did  n't  think  the  meeting  between  him 
and  Ellaline  particularly  cordial,  but  appearances  are 
deceiving  where  girls  are  concerned,  as  I  have  lately 
been  reminded  in  more  ways  than  one.  About  an  hour 
ago,  while  I  was  getting  off  some  letters  and  telegrams, 
I  received  a  message  from  my  ward  asking  if  she  could 
see  me  in  the  hotel  drawing-room  —  the  place  is  so  full 
I  could  n't  get  a  private  one. 

I  went  down  at  once,  of  course,  dimly  (and  foolishly) 
hoping  that  she  wanted  to  "confess"  about  the  ring. 
But  it  was  quite  a  different  confession  she  had  to  make; 
her  desire  to  be  engaged  to  Mr.  Burden! 

Naturally,  after  our  last  conversation  on  that  subject, 
I  was  somewhat  surprised,  and  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
was  tempted  to  remind  her  that  not  long  ago  Young  Nick 
402 


SETINSILVER  403 

had  appeared  as  suitable  in  her  eyes,  as  young  Dick. 
However,  I  stopped  in  time  to  save  myself  from  being 
both  bounder  and  brute.  I  did  inquire  whether  she  were 
now  sure  of  her  own  mind ;  but  it  was  the  duty  of  a  guar- 
dian and  not  the  malice  of  a  disappointed  man  which 
prompted  the  question. 

Her  manner  was  singularly  dry  and  businesslike,  and 
she  came  as  near  to  looking  plain  as  it  is  possible  for  a 
beautiful  girl  to  come;  so  love  is  n't  always  a  beautifier. 

"I  am  sure  of  my  mind  for  the  moment,"  she  replied, 
with  repulsive  prudence.  "  I  suppose  a  girl  need  never 
say  more." 

This  answer  and  her  manner  puzzled  me,  so  I  ven- 
tured to  ask,  in  a  guardianly  way,  if  she  thought  she 
were  enough  in  love  with  Burden  to  be  happy  with  him. 

"  I  have  n't  to  think  about  being  with  him  at  all  yet," 
she  temporized. 

"  You  seem  to  have  an  extraordinary  idea  of  an  engage- 
ment," I  said,  perhaps  rather  sneeringly,  for  I  felt  bitter, 
and  had  never  approved  of  her  less. 

"Perhaps  I  have,"  she  returned,  in  such  an  odd, 
muffled  sort  of  tone  that  I  feared  she  was  going  to  cry, 
and  glanced  at  her  sharply.  But  she  was  looking  down 
and  there  were  no  tears  visible,  so  that  fear  was  relieved. 

"  You  do,  at  all  events,  wish  to  be  engaged  to  Burden  ?" 
I  persisted.  "Am  I  to  understand  that?" 

"  I  have  asked  for  your  consent,"  she  said,  with  a  queer 
stiffness.  And  it  was  on  my  tongue  to  say  as  stiffly, 
"Very  well;  you  have  it.  What  pleases  me  should 
please  you."  But  the  words  stuck  in  my  throat,  as  if 
they  'd  been  lumps  of  ice;  and  instead  I  answered,  almost 


404  SETINSILVER 

in  spite  of  myself,  that  I  could  n't  give  my  consent  uncon- 
ditionally. I  must  have  another  talk  with  Burden,  and 
whatever  my  decisibn  might  be,  I  would  prefer  that  she 
did  n't  consider  herself  engaged  until  after  the  tour  was 
ended. 

"  We  '11  bring  it  to  a  close  as  soon  as  possible  now," 
I  added,  trying  not  to  sound  as  bitter  as  I  felt,  "  so  as  not 
to  keep  you  waiting." 

She  made  no  response  to  this,  except  to  give  me  a  sin- 
gular look  which  even  now  I  find  it  impossible  to  under- 
stand. It  was  as  if  she  had  something  to  reproach  me 
for,  and  yet  as  if  she  were  more  pleased  than  sad. 

Girls  are  very  complicated  human  beings,  if  indeed 
they  can  be  classified  thus  —  though  perhaps  some  men's 
lives  would  be  duller  if  they  were  simpler.  As  for  my 
life,  the  less  girls  have  to  do  with  it  when  my  ward  is  off 
my  hands,  the  better. 

Since  the  above  conversation,  I  have  been  drawn  into 
a  talk  with  Burden.  He  appeared  anxious  to  find  out 
exactly  what  had  passed  between  Ellaline  and  me,  almost 
as  if  he  suspected  her  of  not  "playing  straight,"  but  I 
replied,  briefly,  that  she  had  asked  my  permission  to  be 
engaged  to  him,  having  evidently  changed  her  mind 
since  our  last  discussion  on  the  subject.  This  appeared 
to  content  him  more  or  less,  although  I  repeated  what  I  'd 
said  to  the  girl :  that  I  was  not  prepared  to  consent 
officially  until  I  had  communicated  with  his  mother,  and 
satisfied  myself  that  my  ward  would  be  welcomed  in  the 
family.  This  he  evidently  thought  old-fashioned  and 
over-scrupulous,  but  when  I  admitted  being  both,  he 
ceased  to  protest,  only  saying  that  he  wished  to  write 


SET  IN  SILVER  405 

to  his  mother  first.  I  suggested  talking  with  his  aunt, 
also,  and  he  did  not  object  to  the  idea,  so  Mrs.  Senter  and 
I  have  already  had  a  short  conversation  concerning  her 
nephew's  love  affair.  She  cried  a  little,  and  said  that  she 
would  be  "horribly  alone  in  the  world"  when  her  "only 
real  pal"  was  married,  but  that  of  course  she  wished  for 
his  happiness  above  everything,  and  she  meant  to  give  him 
a  wedding  present  worth  having,  if  she  beggared  herself 
for  years.  The  poor  little  woman  showed  a  great  deal 
of  heart,  and  I  was  touched.  I  'm  afraid  she  's  not  too 
happy,  under  her  air  of  almost  flippant  gaiety  and  '*  smart- 
ness," for  she  rather  hinted  that  she  liked  some  man  who 
did  n't  care  for  her  —  someone  she  met  in  the  East.  I 
suppose  she  can't  be  cherishing  a  hidden  passion  for 
you  ?  Rather  cruel  of  us,  accusing  her  of  being  a  flirt  in 
those  days,  if  she  were  in  earnest  all  the  time,  eh  ? 

In  case  I  "pump"  her  a  little  about  this  mysterious 
disappointment,  and  find  it 's  you  she  's  thinking  of,  I 
may  turn  the  tables,  and  give  you  some  good  advice  — 
better  than  you  gave  me.  You  might  do  worse  than  get 
leave  and  have  another  look  at  this  pretty  and  agreeable 
lady  before  deciding  to  let  her  slip. 

Yours  always, 

PEN. 

Good  old  Owen  enjoyed  his  two  days  in  Cumberland. 
He,  too,  tried  his  hand  on  advising  me.  Said  I  ought  to 
marry.  Not  I! 


XXXV 

MRS.  SENTER  TO  HER  SISTER,  MRS.  BURDEN 

Newcastle,  September  Something 

MY  DEAR  Sis :  This  is  to  ask  a  great  favour  of  you, 
and  you  must  be  a  pet  and  grant  it.  There  's  nothing 
I  won't  do  for  you  in  return,  if  you  will. 

I  have  just  been  having  a  most  satisfactory  chat  with 
Sir  L.  It  began  in  reference  to  Dick.  Somehow  or 
other  that  ingenious  darling  had  forced  Ellaline  Lethbridge 
to  ask  Sir  Lionel  for  his  (Dick's)  hand!  I  say  "forced," 
because  she  is  not  in  the  least  in  love  with  him,  indeed, 
(strange  as  it  may  seem  to  you)  detests  the  ground  he 
walks  on;  yet  she  does  things  that  he  tells  her  to  do  — 
things  she  hates  like  poison.  This  last  coup  of  Dick's 
convinces  me  of  what  I  've  often  suspected :  he  knows 
something  about  her  past  which  she  is  deadly  afraid  he 
will  tell  Sir  Lionel.  It  may  be  connected  with  that  visit  to 
Venice,  when  the  Tyndals  saw  her;  anyhow,  whatever 
the  secret  may  be,  it  is  serious.  She  is  obliged  to  biibe 
Dick;  but  she  dislikes  him  too  intensely  to  marry  him 
ever — even  if  the  way  to  do  so  were  made  easy;  so,  I 
reiterate,  have  no  fear  on  that  score. 

Sir  Lionel  fancies  himself  in  love  with  the  girl,  but  he 
will  get  over  it,  even  if  he  is  n't  on  the  way  to  do  so  already, 
pushed  roughly  onto  the  right  road  by  her  confessed  pref- 
406 


SET    IN  SILVER  407 

erence  for  Dick.  For  the  moment,  however,  I  can  see  he 
is  rather  hard  hit,  though  he  would  be  mad  if  he  dreamed 
I  or  anyone  could  read  his  august  feelings.  He  thinks 
his  hesitation  to  permit  an  engagement  arises  from  con- 
scientious scruples,  but  really  it 's  because  he  can't  bear 
to  have  any  other  man  (or  boy)  making  love  to  his  girl. 
That 's  the  brutal  truth;  and  he  's  haggling  and  putting 
off  the  evil  day  as  long  as  he  can.  He  wanted  to  ask 
me  what  my  feeling  was  in  the  matter;  whether  you 
would  be  pleased,  and  so  on.  Ellaline  might  not  be 
rich,  he  explained,  but  she  would  have  enough  for  her 
own  wants  as  a  married  woman.  He  thought  her 
husband,  when  she  had  one,  ought  to  wish  to  do  the  rest; 
and  though  Dick  considered  his  own  prospects  good,  a 
partnership  in  a  detective  agency  hardly  seemed  ideal. 

I  told  him  I  could  n't  quite  answer  for  you,  as  you  had 
always  hoped  your  one  boy  might  fall  in  love  with  a  rich 
girl ;  but  that  I  was  sure  Dick  adored  Ellaline.  I  asked  if 
I  should  write  to  you,  when  Dick  did;  and  he  said,  half 
reluctantly,  perhaps  I  had  better.  Poor  wretch,  he 
was  afraid  I  might  succeed  in  persuading  you ! 

I  was  pathetic  on  the  subject  of  Dick,  and  our  com- 
radeship, which  must  be  broken  by  the  dear  boy's  mar- 
riage, and  as  Sir  L.  was  suffering  himself,  he  was  in  just 
the  right  mood  to  sympathize  with  me.  I  snivelled  a 
little;  and  at  last,  emboldened  by  success,  I  allowed 
him  to  gather  that  there  was  someone  I  'd  cared  for  a 
long,  long  time  —  someone  who  did  n't  care  for  me. 
At  that  he  was  so  nice,  that  I  liked  him  better  than  I  ever 
thought  I  could;  and  since  then  I  feel  I  really  can't  and 
shan't  lose  him. 


408  SETINSILVER 

No  sooner  had  he  given  my  hand  a  warm  yet  disappoint- 
ing "kind  friend"  squeeze,  at  parting,  than  I  routed 
out  Dick  in  his  own  room.  I  promised  him  that  I  would 
induce  you  to  write  a  nice  letter  about  the  proposed 
engagement  to  Sir  Lionel  if  he  in  his  turn  would  per- 
suade Ellaline  to  put  in  a  good  word  for  me  with  Sir  L., 
to  tell  him  that  she  believed  I  cared  for  him  a  good  deal, 
and  was  unhappy. 

When  I  said  "persuade"  to  Dick,  I  meant  use  his 
unknown  power  to  command;  for  if  the  girl  would  say 
that  to  her  guardian,  her  words  would  be  the  one  stone 
capable  of  killing  two  birds.  It  would  prove  to  him  that 
of  which  I  don't  think  he  is  perfectly  sure  at  present: 
her  love  for  Dick,  or,  at  worst,  her  complete  indifference 
to  himself;  and  it  would  pop  into  his  head  the  idea  I 
want  to  put  there,  though  I  have  done  all  it 's  safe  to 
do  openly  toward  inserting  it. 

I  saw  when  I  softly  hinted  at  a  hopeless  affection  which 
had  spoiled  years  of  my  life,  that  he  did  n't  think  of 
himself.  Somehow,  he  must  be  'made  to  think;  and  now 
is  the  right  time,  for  his  heart  is  sore,  and  needs  balm. 
He  would  be  so  sorry  for  me  that,  in  the  state  he  is  in,  he 
could  n't  be  hard.  He  would  argue  that,  as  he  was  bound 
to  be  unhappy  anyway,  he  might  as  well  try  to  make 
others  happy.  I  feel  that  everything  would  happen 
exactly  as  I  want  it  to  happen  if  Ellaline  Lethbridge 
could  be  depended  upon  to  say  the  right  thing. 

Of  course,  there  lies  the  danger:  that  she  won't.  But 
Dick  boasts  that  she  '11  have  to  do  as  he  tells  her.  It  's 
worth  risking;  but  he  won't  give  the  word  unless  he 
thinks  that  I  've  coaxed  you  'round. 


SET  IN  SILV  ER  409 

That 's  the  favour  I  ask.  Will  you,  when  you  get  this, 
wire  to  me  at  once,  "Writing  according  to  your  request 
to  Sir  L."  ?  I  can  then  show  your  telegram  to  Dick  (you 
must  address  it  to  me  at  Bamborough  Castle,  where  we 
are  to  spend  a  night,  after  staying  one  at  Cragside)  and 
he  will  put  pressure  to  bear  on  Ellaline  Lethbridge. 

You  can  be  absolutely  certain  that  no  harm  will  come 
of  this.  That  Dick  and  she  will  never  be  married; 
whereas,  when  I  am  married  to  Sir  Lionel,  I  '11  give  you 
a  present  of  five  hundred  pounds,  within  the  first  year, 
to  do  with  as  you  like.  I  'd  even  be  willing  to  sign  a  paper 
to  that  effect. 

Your  anxious,  yet  hopeful 

GWEN. 


XXXVI 

AUDRIE    BRENDON  TO   HER   MOTHER 

Bamborough  Castle 

September  9th 

DEAR:  I  know  you  are  miserable  about  me,  but  don't 
be  it,  because  I  'm  not  miserable  about  myself.  Honour 
bright! 

I  've  done  the  hateful  deed.  It  was  at  Newcastle:  and 
I  knew  I  was  in  for  it,  the  minute  I  saw  Dick.  He  's  got 
his  partnership,  and  thinks  he  's  got  me.  But  there  's 
many  a  slip  'twixt  Dick  Burden  and  Audrie  Brendon. 

I  would  n't  tell  Sir  Lionel  I  was  in  love  with  the  horrid 
Boy  Detective,  and  I  'm  happy  —  or  nearly  happy  — 
to  say  that  he  refused  to  give  his  consent  straight  out  to 
an  engagement.  He  told  Dick  the  same  thing;  so  there  '11 
be  no  leaving  us  two  alone  in  lovesick  corners  (can  corners 
be  lovesick?),  or  making  announcements,  or  anything 
appalling  of  that  sort. 

Perhaps  it  was  easier,  speaking  to  Sir  Lionel,  because 
he  had  n't  been  kind  to  me  since  the  last  evening  in  Chester 
—  I  can't  think  why,  though  I  can  think  why  I  deserved 
unkindness.  The  ring  was  terribly  on  my  mind;  but  he 
can't  have  found  out  about  that,  because  the  man  in  the 
shop  promised  he  would  n't  try  to  sell  it  until  next  day. 

I  could  n't  get  auite  what  Ellaline  wanted,  though  I 
410 


SET  IN  SILVER  411 

sold  two  or  three  other  things  —  all  I  could  sell;  but  it 
came  nearly  to  the  right  amount;  and  it  went  off  to  her 
in  Scotland,  in  the  form  of  a  post-office  order,  that  same 
night  —  assured  instead  of  registered,  as  the  letter  was 
so  valuable. 

Sir  Lionel  being  somewhat  frigid  and  remote  in  his 
manner,  appearing  to  take  no  more  interest  in  me  than 
if  he  were  a  big  star  and  I  a  bit  chipped  off  a  Leonid, 
I  delivered  myself  of  what  I  had  to  say  without  great 
difficulty.  I  had  a  queer,  numbed  feeling,  as  though 
if  it  did  n't  matter  to  him,  it  did  n't  to  me,  until  just  at 
the  last,  when  he  said  something  that  nearly  made  me 
cry.  Luckily  I  was  able  to  swallow  the  sob.  It  felt  like 
a  large,  hot,  crisp  baked  potato;  and  my  heart  felt  like  a 
larger,  cold-boiled  beet  soaked  in  vinegar. 

It 's  all  over  now,  though,  and  I  'm  comparatively 
callous.  Maybe  the  vinegar  has  pickled  me  internally  ? 

Bamborough  Castle,  where  we  arrived  to-day  with  our 
kind  and  delightful  hosts  of  Cragside,  is  to  be  the  northern- 
most end  of  the  tour.  On  leaving,  we  turn  southward; 
and  would  make  straight  for  Warwickshire  and  Graylees, 
if,  in  an  evil  moment,  Mrs.  Norton  and  I  had  n't  for  once 
agreed  about  a  place  that  we  longed  to  see.  It  is  Ha- 
worth,  where  the  Brontes  lived,  and  Sir  Lionel  said  that 
our  wish  should  be  gratified.  He  planned  a  day  in  York- 
shire: Ripon,  Fountains  Abbey,  Ha  worth,  Harrogate 
(not  York,  because  Emily  went  there  with  the  late  Mr. 
Norton,  and  has  sad  marital  memories);  and  the  plan 
still  stands.  I  have  an  idea  that  Sir  Lionel  is  impatient 
to  reach  Graylees  now,  so  after  the  Yorkshire  field-day 
we  will  push  on  there;  and  I  shall  perhaps  hear  from 


412  SETINSILVER 

Ellaline  as  to  Honore's  plans.  He  ought  to  be  in  Scotland 
by  that  time.  I  've  written  her  to  wire  me  at  the  nearest 
post-office  to  Graylees  Castle,  as  I  don't  like  to  receive 
telegrams  there.  But  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  n't 
send  a  letter  to  Graylees  —  the  last  letter,  I  hope,  which 
need  ever  be  addressed  to  me  as  "Miss  Ellaline  Leth- 
bridge."  It  will  seem  nice  to  get  into  my  own  name 
again!  Rather  like  putting  on  comfortable  shoes  after 
tight  ones  that  made  blisters.  And  how  divine  to  fly  to 
you  —  a  distracted  chicken,  battered  by  a  thunderstorm, 
scuttling  back  under  its  mother's  downy  wing ! 

Nevertheless,  I  'm  not  going  to  cheat  you  out  of  seeing 
England  through  my  eyes,  because  my  pleasure  —  just 
a  little  of  it  —  is  damped  by  Dick.  I  am  resigned  and 
calm,  and  you  must  n't  think  me  a  martyr.  I  've  told 
you  I  hate  whiners,  and  I  won't  be  one.  Why,  I  ought  to 
be  thankful  for  the  chance  of  such  a  wonderful  trip,  and 
not  be  cowardly  enough  to  spoil  it  by  a  few  private 
worries ! 

Cumberland  is  even  lovelier  than  Wales,  though  I 
should  n't  have  thought  that  possible.  Sir  Lionel  went 
climbing  with  the  nice  Welsh  guide,  whom  he  invited  to 
Keswick,  so  he  was  n't  with  us  much ;  and  Dick  being  in 
London  still,  there  were  only  Mrs.  Norton,  Mrs.  Senter, 
and  I  to  be  conducted  by  Young  Nick.  It  did  seem  odd 
being  driven  by  him,  and  seeing  his  back  look  so  inex- 
pressive among  the  most  ravishing  scenes.  I  asked  if  he 
did  n't  think  Cumberland  glorious,  but  he  said  it  was 
not  like  India.  I  suppose  that  was  an  answer? 

We  spun  off  into  the  mysterious  enchantments  of 
Borrodaile  in  gusts  of  rain;  but  the  heavenly  valley 


SET  IN  SILVER  413 

was  the  more  mystic  because  of  the  showers.  Huge  white 
clouds  walked  ahead  of  us,  like  ghosts  of  pre-historic 
animals;  and  baby  clouds  sprawled  on  the  mountain 
sides,  with  all  their  filmy  legs  in  air. 

At  Lodore  the  water  was  "coming  down"  like  a  minia- 
ture Niagara.  Heavy  rains  had  filled  the  cup  of  its 
parent  river  full,  and  the  waterfall  looked  as  if  floods  of. 
melted  ivory  were  pouring  over  ebony  boulders.  What 
a  lovely,  rushing  roar !  It  was  like  the  father  of  all  sound 
—  as  if  it  might  have  given  the  first  suggestion  of  sound 
to  a  silent,  new-born  world. 

Windermere  and  Derwent  Water  we  saw,  too,  and  each 
was  more  beautiful  than  the  other.  Also  I  was  much 
excited  about  the  Giant's  Grave,  near  Keswick,  which 
has  kept  its  secret  since  before  history  began. 

All  the  way  to  Carlisle  the  country  was  very  fair  to  see, 
scarcely  flagging  in  charm  to  the  end;  and  Carlisle  itself 
was  packed  with  interest,  from  its  old  cathedral  to  the 
castle  where  David  I.  kof  Scotland  died  and  Mary  Queen 
of  Scots  lodged. 

Now  our  thoughts  were  turned  toward  the  Roman 
Wall,  and  I  thrilled  a  little,  despite  the  forbidding  stiff- 
ness of  Sir  Lionel's  disapproving  back  as  he  drove. 
Because  of  Kipling's  splendid  story  of  the  Roman  soldier 
in  "Puck  of  Pook's  Hill,"  I  knew  that  for  me  the  Great 
Wall  (all  that 's  left  of  it)  would  be  one  of  the  best  things. 
Parnesius,  the  young  centurion,  told  Una  and  Dan  that 
"old  men  who  have  followed  the  Eagles  since  boyhood 
say  nothing  is  more  wonderful  than  the  first  sight  of  the 
Wall."  And  also  that  there  were  no  real  adventures 
south  of  it.  It  was  disappointing  to  think  that  nowadays, 


414  SET  IN  SILVER 

on  our  way  there,  we  could  n't  expect  to  meet  "hunters 
and  trappers  for  the  circuses,  prodding  along  chained 
bears  and  muzzled  wolves"  for  the  amusement  of  the 
soldiers  in  the  far  northern  camps;  or  that  when  we 
should  come  to  the  Wall,  we  'd  find  no  helmeted  men 
with  glittering  shields  walking  three  abreast  on  the 
narrowest  part,  screened  from  Picts  by  a  little  curtain- 
wall  at  the  top,  as  high  as  their  necks;  no  roaring,  gam- 
bling, cock-fighting,  wolf-baiting,  horse-racing  soldier 
town  on  one  side,  and  heather  wastes  full  of  hiding, 
arrow-shooting  Picts  on  the  other;  yet  I  heard  Sir  Lionel 
say  we  could  still  trace  the  guard-houses  and  small  towers, 
and  see  how  the  great  camp  of  Cilurnum  was  laid  out. 

We  had  left  the  mountains  before  we  came  into  Carlisle, 
but  not  the  hills;  and  after  one  of  grandiose  size,  which 
an  old  Northumbrian  we  met  called  "a  fair  stiff  bank," 
we  were  on  the  Roman  road;  the  long,  long,  straight  road 
forging  uncompromisingly,  grimly  up  and  down,  ever 
on,  scorning  to  turn  aside  for  difficulties;  the  road  where 
the  Legions  paced  with  the  brave  Roman  step  —  "Rome's 
race,  Rome's  pace,"  twenty-four  miles  in  eight  hours. 

Kipling  illuminated  the  way  through  Haltwhistle  and 
Chollerford  to  the  Chesters,  a  private  park  which  is  a 
big  out-of-doors  museum,  for  it  has  in  its  midst  the  remains 
of  old  Cilurnum.  We  got  out  at  the  gates,  and  wandered 
among  the  ruins  that  have  been  reverently  excavated; 
a  gray  and  faded  scene,  like  a  kind  of  skeleton  Pompeii 
with  dead  bones  rattling;  entrance  gateways;  ghost- 
haunted  guard -houses ;  stone  rings  which  were  towers; 
many  short,  straight  streets  whose  half-buried  pave- 
ments once  rang  under  soldiers'  heels;  the  Forum;  all 


SET  IN  SILVER  415 

the  camp-city  plan;  a  map  with  outlines  roughly 
sketched  in  stone  on  faded  grass.  We  had  had  our 
first  sight  of  the  Wall  of  which  centurions  in  Britain 
bragged  when  they  went  back  to  Rome.  Then  it  was  a 
Living  Wall;  but  it  is  very  wonderful  still,  where  its 
skeleton  lies  in  state. 

We  had  started  so  early  from  Keswick,  that  it  was  n't 
two  o'clock  when  we  left  the  Chesters;  and  I  was  sur- 
prised when,  instead  of  drawing  up  before  some  country 
inn  for  lunch,  we  skimmed  through  a  gate  only  a  mile 
or  two  away,  and  stopped  under  the  shadowy  frown 
of  an  imposing  mediaeval  stronghold.  It  was  Haughton 
Castle,  whose  towers  and  keep  are  crowded  with  stories 
of  the  past,  and  the  visit  was  to  be  a  surprise  for  us. 
Sir  Lionel  knew  the  owner,  who  had  asked  us  all  to 
lunch,  for  the  "dragon's"  sake;  and  it  looked  quite  an 
appropriate  resting-place  for  a  dragon  of  elegant  leisure. 
It  was  as  interesting  within  as  without ;  and  after  luncheon 
they  took  us  over  the  castle;  best  of  all,  down  in  the  deep 
dungeon  where  Archie  Armstrong,  a  chief  of  moss- 
troopers, was  forgotten  and  starved  to  death  by  his  captor, 
Sir  Thomas  Swinburne,  a  stout  knight  of  Henry  the 
Eighth's  day. 

There  is  a  long  story  about  Archie,  too  long  to  tell  you 
here;  but  each  castle  of  Northumberland  (the  county  of 
castles,  not  of  collieries)  has  dozens  of  wonderful  old 
stories,  warlike,  ghostlike,  tragic,  and  romantic.  I  have 
been  reading  a  book  about  some  of  them,  which  I  will 
bring  you.  It 's  more  interesting  than  any  novel.  And 
King  Arthur  legends  are  scattered  broadcast  over 
Northumberland,  as  in  Cornwall.  Also  the  "Scots  wha 


416  SET  IN  SILVER 

hae  wi'  Wallace  bled"  did  much  of  their  bleeding  and 
fighting  here.  There 's  history  of  "every  sort,  to  please 
every  taste,"  from  Celtic  times  on;  but  I  'm  not  sure  that 
the  troublous  days  of  the  great  feudal  barons  were  n't 
the  most  passionately  thrilling  of  all. 

If  the  first  sight  of  the  Wall  was  wonderful  to  the 
Roman  soldiers,  so  must  have  been  the  first  sight  of  the 
wide  Tyne.  I  know  it  was  so  to  me,  as  we  flashed  upon 
it  at  the  first  important  twist  of  the  straight  Roman  road, 
and  crossed  it  on  a  noble  bridge. 

Of  course,  Newcastle  has  a  castle;  and  it  was  "new" 
when  William  the  Conqueror  was  new  to  his  kingdom. 
Now  that  I  've  seen  this  great,  rich,  gay,  busy  city, 
ancient  and  modern,  I  realize  how  stupid  I  was  to  asso- 
ciate it  with  mere  coal,  as  strangers  have  a  way  of  doing, 
because  of  the  trite  remark  about  "taking  coals  to  New- 
castle." Why,  the  very  names  of  the  streets  in  the  old 
part  chime  bell-like  with  the  romance  of  history!  And 
I  like  the  people  of  Northumberland  —  those  I  have 
met;  the  shrewd,  kindly  townsfolk,  and  the  country  folk 
living  in  gray  villages,  who  love  old,  old  ways,  and  emit 
quaint  wit  with  a  strong,  rough  "burr." 

They  have  the  look  in  their  eyes  that  Northern  people 
have,  all  the  world  over;  a  look  that  can  be  hard,  yet 
can  be  kinder  than  the  soft  look  of  more  melting  Southern 
eyes.  Sir  Lionel  is  of  the  South  —  born  in  Cornwall; 
yet  his  eyes  have  this  Northern  glint  in  them  —  as  if  he 
knew  and  understood  mountains.  Just  now  they  are 
terribly  wintry,  and  when  they  rest  coldly  on  me  I  feel 
as  if  I  were  lost  in  a  snowstorm  without  hat  or  coat. 
But  no  matter ! 


SET  IN  SILVER  417 

Now,  what  shall  I  say  to  you  of  Bamborough  Castle, 
which  is  the  crown  of  our  whole  tour  ? 

I  wish  I  were  clever  enough  to  make  the  splendour 
of  it  burst  upon  you,  as  it  did  upon  me. 

Imagine  us  motoring  over  from  Cragside  (a  very 
beautiful  and  famous  modern  house,  with  marvellous 
gardens  and  enchanting  views)  which  belongs  to  these 
kind,  delightful  friends  of  Sir  Lionel's  who  own 
Bamborough  Castle.  There  was  a  house-party  at 
Cragside,  and  there  were  twelve  or  fifteen  of  us  who  left 
there  in  a  drove  of  automobiles. 

Down  the  beautiful  winding  avenue;  then  out  upon  a 
hump-backed,  switchback  road,  a  dozen  miles  and  more, 
past  great  Alnwick,  on,  on,  until  suddenly  a  vast,  dark 
shape  loomed  against  the  sky;  a  stone  silhouette,  not  of 
a  giant's  profile,  but  of  a  whole  vast  family  of  giants 
grouped  together,  to  face  the  sea. 

To  own  a  Thing  like  that  must  feel  like  owning 
Niagara  Falls,  or  the  marble  range  of  the  Sierra  Nevada, 
or  biting  off  a  whole  end  of  England  and  digesting  it. 
Yet  these  charming  people  take  their  ownership  quite 
calmly;  and  by  filling  the  huge  castle  from  keep  to  farthest 
tower  with  their  beautiful  possessions,  seem  to  have  tamed 
the  splendid  monster,  making  it  legitimately  theirs. 

I  thought  Alnwick  grand,  as  we  passed,  but  its  position 
is  insignificant  compared  with  Bamborough,  which  has 
the  wide  North  Sea  for  a  background.  On  a  craggy 
platform  of  black  rock  like  a  petrified  cushion  for  a  royal 
crown,  it  rises  above  the  sea,  a  few  low  foothills  of  golden 
sand  drifting  toward  it  ahead  of  the  tide.  The  grandeur 
of  the  vast  pile  is  almost  overwhelming  to  one  who,  like  me, 


418  SET  IN  SILVER 

has  never  until  now  seen  any  of  these  mighty  fortress- 
castles  of  the  North;  but  a  great  historian  says  that  the  site 
of  Bamborougb  surpasses  the  sites  of  all  other  North- 
umbrian castles  in  ancient  and  abiding  historic  interest; 
so  even  if  I  had  been  introduced  to  dozens,  my  impression 
must  remain  the  same.  "Round  Bamborough,  and  its 
founder,  Ida  (the  Flame-Bearer),  all  Northumbrian  his- 
tory gathers";  and  it  is  "one  of  the  great  cradles  of 
national  life." 

Bamborough  village,  close  by,  was  once  the  royal  city 
of  Bernicia,  and  the  "Laidly  Worm"  was  there  to  give  it 
fame,  even  if  there  had  never  been  a  Grizel  Cochrane  or 
Grace  Darling;  but  the  history  of  the  hamlet  that  once 
was  great,  and  the  castle  that  will  always  be  great,  are 
virtually  one.  I  shall  bring  you  Besant's  "Dorothy 
Foster,"  and  lots  of  fascinating  photographs  which  our 
hostess  has  given  me.  (I  don't  think  I  need  leave  them 
for  Ellaline,  as  she  would  n't  care.)  But  you  know  the 
story  of  the  Laidly  Worm,  because  Dad  used  to  tell  it 
to  me  when  I  was  small.  The  wicked  stepmother  who 
turned  her  beautiful  stepdaughter  into  the  fearsome  Worm 
used  to  live  at  the  bottom  of  a  deep,  deep  well  that  opens 
in  the  stone  floor  of  the  castle  keep;  and  there,  in  the  rock- 
depths,  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  below,  she  still  lurks,  in 
the  form  of  a  gigantic  toad.  I  have  been  allowed  to  peep 
down,  and  I  'm  sure  I  caught  the  jewelled  sparkle  of  her 
wicked  eye  in  the  gloom.  But  even  if  she  'd  turned  me 
into  a  Laidly  Worm,  I  could  n't  be  more  repulsive  than 
I  probably  am  at  present  to  Sir  Lionel;  besides,  I  could 
crawl  away  into  a  neighbouring  cave  with  modern  improve- 
ments, and  console  myself  with  a  good  cry  —  which  I 


I 


\ 


SETINSILVER  419 

can't  do  now,  for  fear  of  getting  a  red  nose.  I  should 
hate  that,  because  Mrs.  Senter's  nose  is  so  magnolia- 
white,  and  the  background  of  a  magnificent  feudal  castle 
sets  off  her  golden  hair  and  brown  eyes  so  passing  well. 

There  might  be  volumes  of  history,  as  well  as  romances, 
written  about  Bamborough  Castle  —  as  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
and  Harrison  Ains worth,  and  Sir  Walter  Besant  knew. 
Why,  the  thrill  of  unwritten  stories  and  untold  legends 
is  in  the  air!  From  the  moment  I  passed  through  the 
jaws  of  outer  and  inner  gateways,  I  seemed  to  hear  whis- 
pers from  lips  that  had  laughed  or  cursed  in  the  days  of 
barbaric  grandeur,  when  Bamborough  was  the  king  of 
all  Northumbrian  castles.  There  are  queer  echoes 
everywhere,  in  the  vast  rooms  whose  outer  walls  are  twelve 
feet  thick;  but  more  deliciously  "creepy"  than  any  other 
place  is  the  keep,  I  think  —  even  more  thrilling  than  the 
dungeons.  Yet  the  castle,  as  it  is  now,  is  far  from 
gloomy,  I  can  tell  you.  Not  only  are  there  banqueting- 
halls  and  ball-rooms,  and  drawing-rooms  and  vast  gal- 
leries which  royalties  might  covet,  but  there  are  quan- 
tities of  charming  bedrooms,  gay  and  bright  enough  for 
debutante  princesses.  My  bedroom,  where  I  am  writ- 
ing, is  in  a  turret;  quaintly  furnished,  with  tapestry  on  the 
wall  which  might  have  suggested  to  Browning  his  "Childe 
Roland  to  the  Dark  Tower  Came." 

It 's  very  late,  but  I  don't  like  to  go  to  bed,  partly 
because  I  can't  keep  jumping  up  and  down  to  look  out 
of  my  window  at  wild  crags  and  moonlit  sea  when  I  'm 
asleep;  partly  because  I  have  such  silly,  miserable  dreams 
about  Sir  Lionel  hating  me,  that  I  wake  up  snivelling; 
and  to  write  to  you  when  I  'm  a  tiny  bit  triste  is  always 


420  SET  IN  SILVER 

like  warming  my  hands  at  a  rainbow-tinted  fire  of 
ship's  logs. 

To-morrow  afternoon  we  are  going  back  to  Newcastle, 
where  we  will  "lie"  one  night,  as  old  books  say,  and 
then  make  a  very  matinal  start  to  do  our  great  day  in 
Yorkshire,  passing  first  through  Durham,  with  just  a 
glance  at  the  great  cathedral.  Once  upon  a  time  we 
would  have  given  more  than  a  glance.  But,  as  I  told 
you,  Sir  Lionel  seems  to  have  lost  heart  for  the  "long  trail." 

I  never  saw  him  so  interested  in  Mrs.  Senter  as  he  has 
appeared  to  be  these  last  two  nights  at  Cragside  and  here. 
Certainly  she  is  looking  her  very,  very  best;  and  in  her 
manner  with  him  there  is  a  gentleness  and  womanli- 
ness only  just  developed.  One  would  fancy  that  a 
sympathetic  understanding  had  established  itself 
between  them,  as  it  might  if  she  told  him  some  piteous 
story  about  herself  which  roused  all  his  chivalry. 

Well,  if  she  has  told  him  any  such  story,  I  'm  sure  it  is 
a  "story"  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  And  I  don't  know 
how  I  should  bear  it  if  she  cajoled  him  into  believing  her 
an  injured  innocent  who  needed  the  shelter  of  a  (rich  and 
titled)  man's  arm. 

Perhaps  it  is  a  little  sad  wind  that  cries  at  my  window 
like  a  baby  begging  to  come  in;  perhaps  it  is  just  foolish- 
ness; but  I  have  a  presentiment  that  something  will 
happen  here  to  make  me  remember  Bamborough  Castle 
forever,  not  for  itself  alone. 

Afternoon  of  next  day 

It  has  happened.  Best  One,  I  don't  quite  know  what 
is  going  to  become  of  me.  There  has  been  the  most 


SET  IN  SILVER  421 

awful  row.  It  was  with  Dick,  and  Sir  Lionel  does  n't 
know  about  it  yet,  and  we  are  supposed  to  be  going  away 
in  a  few  minutes;  but  maybe  Dick  is  talking  to  Sir  Lionel 
now,  and  if  he  is,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  be  allowed  to 
proceed  in  the  company  of  virtuous  Emily  and  (com- 
paratively) innocent  Gwendolen.  I  shall  probably  be 
given  a  third-class  ticket  back  to  Paris,  and  ordered  to 
"git." 

It 's  rather  hard  that,  having  sacrificed  so  much,  large 
chunks  of  self-respect  among  other  things,  it  should  all 
come  to  nothing  in  the  end.  Ellaline  will  want  to  kill 
me,  for  I  have  thrown  her  to  the  lions.  It  won't  be  my 
fault  if  they  don't  eat  her  up. 

Oh,  darling,  I  do  feel  horribly  about  it,  and  really 
and  truly,  without  exaggeration,  I  would  have  died 
sooner  than  repay  her  kindness  to  me  by  giving  her  away 
like  this.  An  ancestress  of  yours  in  the  Revolution  ran 
up  the  steps  of  the  guillotine  laughing  and  kissing  her 
hands  to  the  friends  she  left  in  the  tumbril,  and  I  could 
have  been  almost  half  as  brave  if  by  so  doing  I  might  have 
avoided  this  dreadful  abandoning  of  Ellaline's  interests, 
trusted  to  me.  But  what  can  you  do  between  two  evils  ? 
Is  n't  it  a  law  of  nature,  or  something,  to  choose  the 
lesser  ? 

Dick  went  just  the  one  step  too  far,  and  pulled  the 
chain  too  tight.  He  had  begun  to  think  he  could  make 
me  do  anything. 

A  little  while  ago,  I  was  alone  in  the  armoury,  absorbed 
in  looking  at  a  wonderful  engraving  of  the  tragic  last  Earl 
of  Derwentwater,  when  suddenly  Dick  came  up  behind  me. 
I  wanted  to  go,  and  made  excuses  to  escape,  but  he 


422  SET  IN  SILVER 

would  n't  let  me;  and  rather  than  have  a  scene  —  in  case 
anyone  might  come  —  I  let  him  walk  me  about,  and 
point  out  strange  old  weapons  on  the  wall.  That  was 
only  a  blind,  however.  He  had  something  particular  to 
say,  and  said  it.  There  was  another  thing  I  must  do  for 
him:  find  a  way  of  informing  Sir  Lionel,  prettily  and 
nicely,  that  Mrs.  Senter  cared  for  him,  and  was  very 
unhappy. 

I  flew  out  in  an  instant,  and  said  that  I  'd  do  no  such 
thing. 

"You  must,"  said  he. 

"I  won't,"  said  I.     "Nobody  can  make  me." 

"  Oh,  can't  they  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  can,  then,  and  I  mean  to. 
If  you  refuse  to  do  it,  I  shall  believe  you  're  in  love  with  Sir 
Lionel  yourself." 

"I  don't  care  what  you  believe,"  I  flung  at  him.  " There's 
no  shame  in  saying  I  like  Sir  Lionel  too  well  and  respect 
him  too  much  to  have  any  hand  in  making  him  miserable 
all  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"Do  you  insinuate  that  marrying  my  aunt  would  make 
him  miserable?"  Dick  wanted  to  know. 

"I  don't  insinuate.  I  assert,"  said  I.  And  by  that  time 
I  was  in  such  a  temper,  and  my  nerves  had  so  gone  to  bits 
that  I  did  n't  know,  and  cared  less,  what  I  was  saying.  I 
went  on  and  told  Dick  exactly  what  I  thought  of  Mrs. 
Senter,  and  that  for  a  loyal,  true  sort  of  man  like  Sir  Lionel 
it  would  be  better  to  die  at  once  than  have  her  for  his  wife 
—  for  that  would  be  death,  too,  only  slow  and  lingering. 
Dick  was  white  with  fury,  but  I  hardly  noticed  then,  for  I 
was  seeing  red. 

"If  you  call  her  deceitful,  what  are  you  ?"  he  sputtered. 


SET  IN  SILVER  423 

"I  'm  neither  here  nor  there,"  said  I. 

"Certainly  you  won't  be  here  long,  or  where  Pen- 
dragon  is,"  said  he.  "I  would  n't  marry  you  now,  if 
you  'd  have  me.  You  're  nothing  more  or  less  than  an 
adventuress." 

"And  you  're  a  blackmailer,"  I  mentioned,  because  I  'd 
gone  back  to  primitive  passions,  like  Eve's,  or  a  Brittany 
fishwife's. 

"  That 's  a  lie,"  he  answered  politely,  "  because  black- 
mailers only  threaten;  I  'm  going  to  perform.  It 's  all 
up  with  you." 

"I  don't  care  for  myself,"  said  I.  But,  as  you  know, 
that  was  only  partly  true. 

Then  for  a  minute  Dick  seemed  to  repent.  "No  good 
losing  our  tempers  like  this,"  he  said.  "Take  back 
your  insults  to  my  aunt,  who  is  the  best  pal  I  ever  had 
—  though  that 's  not  saying  much  —  and  speak  a  good 
word  for  her  to  Sir  Lionel,  whom  she  really  loves,  and 
I  '11  let  you  off." 

"  I  'd  have  my  tongue  cut  out  first,"  I  answered. 

"Is  that  your  last  word  ?"  he  persisted. 

"Yes,"  said  I. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  he,  "you  '11  be  sorrier  for  this 
than  you  ever  were  for  anything  in  your  life."  And  he 
stamped  away,  leaving  me  alone. 

I  flew  up  to  my  room,  because  I  was  n't  going  to  run  the 
risk  of  his  bringing  Sir  Lionel  in  and  telling  him  every- 
thing before  me.  So  here  I  am,  and  that 's  all;  except 
that  Emily  has  come  to  my  door  to  say  her  brother 
wants  to  know  if  I  can  be  ready  to  start  in  twenty 
minutes. 


424  SET  IN  SILVER 

Newcastle,  Night 

We  're  back  in  our  rooms  at  the  County  Hotel,  and  I 
am  dazed  with  the  mystery  of  what  is  going  on.  I  was 
ready  in  twenty  minutes;  and  all  the  automobiles  that 
brought  us  yesterday  were  waiting  to  take  us  away  again. 
When  I  came  down,  Mrs.  Norton  and  Mrs.  Senter  were 
in  our  car;  Sir  Lionel,  cool  but  polite,  prepared  to  help 
me  in,  standing  by.  He  has  great  control  over  his  features, 
but  I  did  n't  think,  if  he  had  heard  Dick's  story,  and 
intended  to  shed  me  at  the  nearest  railway  station  (not 
to  make  a  scandal  at  Bamborough),  he  could  be  looking 
as  unmoved  as  that. 

No  Dick  was  in  sight.  Naturally,  I  did  n't  ask  for 
him,  but  perhaps  my  eye  moved  wildly  round,  for  Mrs. 
Senter  read  its  question,  and  answered  it  in  a  voice  like 
insufficiently  sweetened  lemonade: 

"Your  Dick,  dear  child,  has  had  another  urgent  sum- 
mons to  his  mother's  side,  and  won't  be  with  us  to-day. 
His  last  words  were  that  you  would  understand,  so  I 
suppose  he  explained  more  to  you  than  to  me.  But  you 
are  privileged." 

I  could  have  boxed  her  ears,  hard. 

Emily  went  on,  in  her  fussy  way,  to  make  things  clear 
to  my  intellect  by  adding  that  our  host  had  kindly  sent 
Mr.  Burden  to  the  nearest  railway  station  in  his  own 
fastest  motor,  as  it  seemed  he  had  just  time  to  catch  a 
train  leaving  almost  immediately. 

I  did  n't  know  what  to  make  of  it  all,  and  don't  now. 
Whether  a  telegram  from  the  invalid  mother  did  really 
come  in  the  nick  of  time  to  save  me,  like  Abraham's  ram 
that  caught  in  the  bushes  at  the  last  minute;  or  whether 


SET  IN  SILVER  425 

this  sudden  dash  to  Scotland  is  a  deep-dyed  plot;  or 
whether  he  is  n't  going,  really,  but  means  to  stop  and  spy 
on  me  disguised  as  a  chauffeur  or  a  performing  bear  — 
or  what,  I  can't  guess. 

All  I  do  know  is  that,  so  far,  Sir  Lionel's  manner  is 
unchanged.  Perhaps  Dick  left  a  note  with  Mrs.  Senter, 
which  she  is  to  put  into  Sir  L.'s  hand  at  an  appropriate 
moment?  He  may  seem  altered  at  dinner,  to  which  I 
must  go  down  soon;  or  he  may  send  for  me  and  have  it 
out  during  the  evening.  I  '11  add  a  line  before  we  get 
off  to-morrow  morning. 

September  Wth.    8.45  A.M. 

We  're  just  going.  He  seems  the  same  as  ever.  I  'm 
lost  in  it!  I  '11  post  this  downstairs.  Please  write  at 
once  to  Graylees;  for  if  I  am  sent  away  before,  I  '11  as^: 
to  have  letters  forwarded  to  my  own  address. 

Your 

AUDRIE. 


XXXVII 

MRS.  SENTER  TO  HER  NEPHEW,  DICK  BURDEN,  AT 
GLEN  LACHLAN,  N.  B. 

Newcastle 

September  10th 

8  A  Jf. 

You  might  have  told  me  what  was  up.  Is  your  mother 
really  ill?  Am  anxious  and  puzzled.  Don't  think  you 
play  fair.  Wire,  Midland  Hotel,  Bradford. 

GWEN. 


XXXVIII 

DICK  BURDEN  TO  HIS  AUNT,  MRS.  SENTER, 
MIDLAND  HOTEL,  BRADFORD 

Glenlachlan, 

September  10th 

8P.M. 

Mother  not  ill.    You  will  know  everything  to-morrow 
or  day  after. 

DICK. 


427 


XXXIX 

AUDRIE  BRENDON  TO  HER  MOTHER 

Midland  Hotel,  Bradford 

September  llth 

BELOVED  ONE:  Situation  unchanged.  I  know  now 
how  you  felt  when  you  had  nervous  prostration.  However, 
I  'm  not  going  to  have  it,  so  don't  worry. 

If  I  had  been  in  a  state  of  mind  to  enjoy  it  fully,  this 
would  have  been  a  wonderful  day.  But  I  don't  suppose 
Damocles  enjoyed  himself  much,  even  if  they  brought 
him  delicious  things  to  eat  and  drink,  and  rich  jewels, 
and  the  kind  of  cigarettes  he  'd  always  longed  for,  yet 
never  could  afford  to  buy — knowing  that  any  instant 
it  might  be  the  hair's  time  to  break. 

I  don't  believe  he  could  have  done  justice  to  beautiful 
Durham  Cathedral  and  the  famous  bridge;  or  splendid 
Richmond  Castle  on  its  height  above  the  Swale;  or  the 
exhilarating  North  Road;  or  charming  Ripon;  or  even 
the  exquisite,  almost  heart-breaking  beauty  of  ruined 
Fountains  Abbey,  by  the  little  river  that  sings  its  dirge 
in  music  sweeter  than  harp  or  violin.  No,  he  could  n't 
have  put  his  soul  into  his  eyes  for  them,  and  I  did  n't. 
I  was  almost  sorry  that  we  were  to  go  on  and  see  Harro- 
gate  and  the  Strid  and  Bolton  Abbey,  because  in  my 
restlessness  I  did  n't  feel  intelligent  enough  to  appreciate 
428 


SETINSILVER  429 

anything.  I  could  only  be  dully  thankful  that  the  sword 
had  n't  pierced  me  yet;  but  I  wanted  to  be  alone,  and 
shut  my  eyes,  and  not  have  to  talk,  especially  to  Mrs. 
Norton. 

Dimly  I  realized  that  Harrogate  seemed  a  very  pretty 
place,  where  it  might  be  amusing  to  stay,  and  take  baths 
and  nice  walks,  and  listen  to  music;  and  my  bodily  eyes 
saw  well  enough  how  lovely  was  the  way  through  Nidders- 
dale  and  Ilkley  to  Pately  Bridge,  where  we  had  to  get 
out  and  walk  through  enchanted  woods  to  the  foaming 
cauldron  of  the  Strid.  The  water,  swollen  by  rain, 
raced  over  its  rocks  below  the  crags  of  the  tragic  jump, 
like  a  white  horse  running  away,  mad  with  unreasoning 
terror.  Nevertheless,  my  bodily  eyes  were  only  glass 
windows  which  my  spirit  had  deserted.  It  left  them  blank 
still,  at  Bolton  Abbey,  which  is  poetically  beautiful 
(though  not  as  lovable  as  Fountains),  on,  up  the  great 
brown  hill  of  Bard  en  Moor,  through  Skipton,  where,  in 
the  castle,  legend  says  Fair  Rosamond  lived;  until  — 
Haworth.  There  —  before  we  came  to  the  steep,  straight 
hill  leading  up  to  the  bleak  and  huddled  townlet  bitten 
out  of  the  moor,  my  spirit  rushed  to  the  windows.  The 
voices  of  Charlotte  Bronte  and  her  sister  Emily  called 
it  back,  and  it  obeyed  at  a  word,  though  all  the  beauty  of 
wooded  hills  and  fleeting  streams  had  vanished,  as  if 
frightened  by  the  cold,  relentless  winds  of  the  high 
moorland. 

Rain  had  begun  to  fall.  The  sky  was  leaden,  the 
sharp  hill  muddy;  everything  seemed  to  combine  in 
giving  an  effect  of  grimness,  as  the  car  forged  steadily 
up,  up  toward  the  poor  home  the  Brontes  loved. 


430  SET  IN  SILVER 

Is  n't  it  a  beautiful  miracle,  the  banishing  of  black  dark- 
ness by  the  clear  light  of  genius  ?  It  was  that  light  which 
had  lured  us  away  from  all  the  charms  of  nature  to  a 
region  of  ugliness,  even  of  squalor.  The  Brontes  had 
lived  there.  They  had  pined  for  Haworth  when  away. 
Emily  had  written  about  the  "spot  'mid  barren  hills, 
where  winter  howls,  and  driving  rain."  They  had 
thought  there,  worked  there,  the  wondrous  sisters;  they 
had  illuminated  the  mean  place,  and  made  it  a  lodestar 
for  the  world. 

When  we  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  (which  was  almost 
like  reaching  a  ceiling  after  climbing  the  side  of  a  hideous 
brown-painted  wall),  I  forgot  my  own  troubles  in  think- 
ing of  the  Brontes'  tragedy  of  poverty,  disappointment, 
and  death. 

We  were  in  a  poor  street  of  a  peculiarly  depressing 
village,  and  could  not  even  see  the  moor  that  had  given 
the  Bronte  girls  inspiration,  though  we  knew  it  must 
stretch  beyond.  Even  in  bright  sunshine  there  could  be 
no  beauty  in  Haworth;  but  under  that  leaden  sky,  in  the 
thick  mist  of  rain,  the  poor  stone  houses  lining  the  way, 
the  sordid,  unattractive  shops  were  positively  repellent. 
All  that  was  not  so  dark  a  gray  as  to  look  black  was  dull 
brown;  and  not  a  single  window-pane  had  a  gleam  of 
intelligence  for  the  unwelcome  strangers.  I  could  imagine 
no  merriment  in  Haworth,  nor  any  sound  of  laughter;  yet 
the  Brontes  were  happy  when  they  were  children  —  at 
least,  they  thought  they  were;  but  it  would  be  too  tragic 
if  children  did  n't  think  themselves  happy. 

There  was  the  Black  Bull  Inn,  where  wretched  Bram- 
well  Bronte  used  to  carouse.  Poor,  weak,  vain-glorious 


SETINSILVER  431 

fellow!  I  never  pitied  him  till  I  saw  that  gloomy  stone 
box  which  meant  "seeing  life"  to  him.  There  was 
the  museum  where  the  Bronte  relics  are  kept  —  but  we 
delayed  going  in  that  we  might  see  the  old  parsonage 
first,  the  shrine  where  the  preserved  relics  had  once  made 
"home."  Oh,  mother,  the  sadness  of  it,  tucked  away 
among  the  crowding  tombstones,  all  gray-brown  to- 
gether, among  weeds  and  early  falling  leaves!  Here 
already  it  was  autumn;  and  though  I  could  fancy  a  pale, 
frosty  spring,  and  a  white,  ice-bound  winter,  my  im- 
agination could  conjure  up  no  richness  of  summer. 

The  gravestones  crowding  the  gray  old  house  in  the 
churchyard,  pushing  it  back  toward  the  moor,  were 
thick  as  an  army  on  parade  —  a  sad,  starved  army,  where 
dying  soldiers  lean  on  each  other  for  support;  and  the 
parsonage,  shadowed  by  dripping  trees,  was  plain  and 
uncompromising  as  a  sermon  that  warns  you  not  to  love 
the  world  or  you  will  spend  eternity  in  hell.  But  behind 

—  just  beyond  the  wall  —  billowed  the  moor,  monotonous 
yet  majestic,  the  scene  that  called  to  Emily  and  Charlotte 
Bronte's  hearts,  always,  when  they  were  far  away. 

My  heart  contracted  as  I  thought  of  them  there;  and 
when  we  'd  walked  back  to  the  village  street,  and  been 
admitted  to  the  museum,  I  was  on  the  point  of  crying 

—  not  for  myself,  but  with  the  choked  grief  one  might 
have  on  opening  a  box  of  old  letters  from  a  loved,  dead 
friend.     It  is  the  most  intimate,  touching  little  jumble 
of  pathetic  souvenirs  you  ever  saw  in  a  museum;  more 
like  treasures  guarded  by  near  relations  than  a  collection 
for  public  eyes  to  see;  but  that  makes  the  poignant  charm 
of  it.     I  could  have  sobbed  on  a  pink  print  frock  with  a 


432  SET  IN  SILVER 

cape,  such  as  Jane  Eyre  might  have  worn  at  Thornfield, 
and  on  bits  of  unfinished  needlework,  simple  lace  collars, 
and  water-colour  sketches  with  which  Charlotte  tried 
to  brighten  the  walls  of  her  austere  home.  There  was  the 
poor  dear's  wedding  shawl,  and  a  little  checked  silk  dress 
of  which  I  'm  sure  she  was  innocently  proud;  a  few 
fantastic  drawings  of  Bram well's;  a  letter  or  two  from 
the  sisters;  and  a  picture  of  the  Reverend  Carus  Wilson, 
who  was  supposed  to  be  Mr.  Brocklehurst;  just  the 
rather  handsome,  well-fed,  self-satisfied  man  you  would 
expect  him  to  be. 

I  think,  dear,  that  Haworth  has  done  me  good,  and 
helped  me  to  be  brave.  Again  and  again  I  turned,  when 
we  'd  left,  to  look  back  at  the  church  tower,  and  try  to 
gather  some  of  the  Bronte  courage  before  we  slipped 
away  down  many  a  dark  hill  toward  Bradford,  as  night 
gathered  us  in. 

I  may  need  all  the  courage  that  I  have  borrowed  and 
cashed  in  advance,  because  suspense  is  worse  than  the 
pain  of  any  blow. 

We  leave  here  early  to-morrow  morning  for  Gray  lees 
Castle  in  Warwickshire  —  and  the  tour  is  at  an  end. 

Your  AUDRIE,  who  loves  and 
longs  for  you. 


XL 

AUDRIE   BRENDON  TO    HER   MOTHER 

Graylees  Castle 
Night  of  September  12th 

DEAREST  AND  WISEST:  I  remember  the  first  letter 
I  wrote  you  (on  July  Fourth)  about  the  Ellaline  business 
began  with  expressions  something  like  this:  "Fireworks! 
Roman  Candles  !  !  Rockets  !  !  !  " 

Well,  my  last  letter  about  the  Ellaline  business  begins 
with  explosions,  too.  A  whole  gunpowder  plot  has 
exploded:  Dick's  plot. 

We  got  here  in  the  afternoon;  an  uneventful  run,  for  Sir 
Lionel  was  always  the  same;  cool  but  kind.  I  could  n't 
believe  Dick  had  told  him  anything. 

Graylees  is  a  place  to  be  proud  of,  and  you  would 
never  know  there  had  been  a  fire  in  the  castle  —  but  no 
injury  was  done  to  the  oldest  part.  Mrs.  Norton  says 
Graylees  is  called  the  "miniature  Warwick,"  but  it 
doesn't  look  a  miniature  anything:  it  seems  enormous. 
There  's  a  great  hall,  with  suits  of  armour  scattered  about, 
and  weapons  of  all  periods  arranged  in  intricate  patterns 
on  the  stone  wall;  and  a  minstrels'  gallery,  and  quantities 
of  grand  old  Tudor  and  Stuart  furniture;  there 's  a 
haunted  picture-gallery  where  a  murdered  bride  walks 
each  Christmas  Eve,  beautifully  dressed;  there  's  a  suite 
433 


434  SET  IN  SILVER 

of  rooms  in  which  kings  and  queens  have  occasionally 
slept  since  the  time  when  Henry  Seventh  reigned ;  there  's 
a  priest's  "hidie  hole,"  and  secret  dungeons  under  the 
big  dining-hall  where  people  used  to  revel  while  their 
prisoners  writhed ;  and  —  but  I  have  n't  seen  nearly 
all  yet. 

The  room  allotted  to  me  looks  down  from  its  high 
tower  on  to  a  mossy  moat  choked  with  pink  and  white 
water  lilies;  on  a  stone  terrace  this  side  of  a  sunken 
garden,  a  peacock  plays  sentinel,  with  his  tail  spread  like  a 
jewelled  shield;  and  against  the  sky  dark,  horizontal 
branches  of  Lebanon  cedars  stretch,  like  arms  of  black- 
clad  priests  pronouncing  a  blessing.  May  the  blessing 
rest  upon  this  house  forever! 

I  hardly  saw  the  country  through  which  we  came, 
though  it  was  George  Eliot's  country;  and  I  half  expected 
something  to  happen  as  soon  as  we  arrived;  Sir  Lionel 
perhaps  turning  on  me  at  last,  and  saying  icily:  "I  know 
everything,  but  don't  want  a  scandal.  Go  quietly,  at  once." 

Nothing  of  the  sort  came  to  pass,  however.  We  had 
tea  in  the  great  hall,  brought  by  an  old  butler  who  had 
known  Sir  Lionel  when  he  visited  the  uncle  who  left 
Graylees  to  him.  Afterward,  Mrs.  Norton  showed  me 
"my  room,"  where  already  a  maid  engaged  for  "Miss 
Lethbridge"  had  unpacked  most  of  my  things,  the 
big  luggage  having  arrived  before  us.  My  heart  gave 
a  jump  when  I  saw  the  drawers,  and  big  cedar-lined 
wardrobes  full  of  finery;  but  settled  down  again  when  I 
remembered  that  almost  everything  belonged  to  Ellaline, 
and  that  my  legitimate  possessions  could  be  packed  again 
in  about  five  minutes. 


SETINSILVER  435 

Before  the  change  of  friendship's  weather  at  Chester, 
I  think  Sir  Lionel  would  have  wanted  to  take  me  round 
his  domain,  indoors  and  out,  but  no  such  suggestion  was 
made.  I  was  in  my  room,  and  there  I  stayed;  but  I  felt 
too  restless  to  settle  down  and  write  to  you.  I  kept  wait- 
ing for  something,  as  you  do  for  a  clock  to  strike,  when 
you  know  it  is  bound  to  strike  soon. 

By  and  by  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  I  could  n't 
bear  to  wear  one  of  the  grand  Ellaline  dresses,  so  I  put 
on  the  old  black.  I  did  look  a  frump  in  it,  in  such  a  place 
as  Graylees  Castle,  where  everything  ought  to  be  beau- 
tiful and  rich,  but  I  did  my  hair  as  nicely  as  I  could,  and 
from  the  top  of  my  head  to  my  shoulders  I  was  n't  so  bad. 

I  went  downstairs  at  eight  o'clock,  and  Mrs.  Senter 
was  already  in  the  great  hall,  standing  in  front  of  the 
splendid  stone  fireplace,  watching  her  rings  sparkle  in 
the  light  of  the  wood  fire,  and  resting  one  pretty  foot  on  a 
paw  of  the  left-hand  carved  stone  wolf  that  supports  a 
ledge  of  the  mantelpiece  —  just  as  if  it  belonged  to  her 
and  she  had  tamed  it.  She  glanced  up  when  I  appeared, 
and  smiled  vaguely,  but  did  n't  speak.  She  seemed 
thoughtful. 

After  awhile,  Emily  came,  swishing  silkily.  Mrs. 
Senter  began  to  talk  to  her,  praising  the  place;  and  then, 
just  before  the  quarter  past  —  dinner-time  —  Sir  Lionel 
joined  us,  looking  nice,  but  tired.  Mrs.  Senter  gave 
him  a  sweet  smile,  and  he  smiled  back,  absent-mindedly. 
He  gave  her  his  arm  in  to  dinner,  and  she  did  clever  things 
with  her  eyelashes,  which  made  her  seem  to  blush.  She  wore 
a  white  dress  I  'd  not  seen  yet,  a  simple  string  of  pearls 
round  her  neck,  and  quite  a  maidenly  or  bridal  look. 


436  "SET  IN  SILVER 

I  could  n't  wonder  at  Sir  Lionel  if  he  admired  her!  At 
the  dinner-table  (which  was  beautiful  with  flowers,  lots 
of  silver,  and  old  crystal  —  a  picture  against  the  dark  oak 
panelling)  Mrs.  Senter  was  on  his  right  hand,  I  on  his 
left,  his  sister  playing  hostess.  This  was  as  usual;  but 
as  it  was  the  first  time  in  his  own  house,  somehow  it  made 
Mrs.  Senter  seem  of  more  importance.  He  and  she 
talked  together  a  good  deal,  and  she  said  some  witty  things, 
but  spent  herself  mostly  in  drawing  him  out.  He  did  n't 
speak  to  me,  except  to  deign  a  question  about  my  room, 
or  ask  whether  I  would  have  a  certain  thing  to  eat.  I 
felt  a  dreadful  lump,  and  worth  about  "thirty  cents,"  as 
Dad  used  to  say. 

After  dinner,  when  Emily  took  us  to  a  charming 
drawing-room,  all  white,  with  an  old  spinet  in  one 
corner,  Sir  Lionel  stopped  away  for  a  few  minutes;  but 
when  he  came  Mrs.  Senter  grabbed  him  immediately. 
She  would  n't  let  him  hear,  when  Emily  inquired  if 
I  could  sing,  accompanying  myself  on  the  spinet,  but 
began  asking  him  eagerly  about  the  library,  which  it 
seems  is  rather  famous. 

"You  shall  see  it  to-morrow,  if  you  like,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  mayn't  I  have  a  peep  to-night?"  she  begged, 
prettily.  "Do  take  me.  Just  one  peep." 

So  he  took  her,  of  course,  and  the  peep  prolonged  itself 
indefinitely.  I  had  a  sinking  presentiment  that  my 
dreadful  flare-up  with  Dick  had  been  in  vain,  and  that 
after  all  she  would  inveigle  him  into  proposing  to  her 
this  very  night.  Since  I  refused  to  tell  him  that  her 
damask  cheek  was  being  preyed  upon  by  love  of  him, 
she  would  probably  intimate  as  much  herself,  and  bury 


SET  IN  SILVETl  437 

her  head  between  her  hands,  looking  incredibly  sad  and 
lovable.  Sir  Lionel  would  n't  be  the  man  to  fight  such 
tactics  as  those!  I  knew  he  didn't,  wouldn't,  and 
could  n't  love  her  one  little  bit,  but  he  would  be  sorry 
for  her,  and  sacrifice  himself  rather  than  she  should  suffer 
for  his  sake,  when  he  might  make  her  happy. 

Emily  chatted  to  me  pleasantly  about  the  church,  and 
the  vicar  at  Graylees,  and  family  tombs,  and  such  cheer- 
ful things,  to  which  I  said  "  Yes  "  and  "  No  "  whenever  she 
stopped;  but  a  cold  perspiration  was  coming  out  on  my 
forehead.  I  was  just  as  sure  as  that  I  was  alive,  that 
Mrs.  Senter  did  n't  meaii  to  leave  the  library  until  Sir 
Lionel  had  made  her  a  present  of  himself,  his  books,  and 
his  castle.  Probably  my  sub-conscious  self  or  astral 
body  was  there,  hearing  every  word  they  said.  Anyhow, 
I  knew.  And  I  could  do  nothing.  A  thumb-screw  or  a 
rack  would  have  been  a  pleasant  relief. 

Suddenly  we  heard  the  sound  of  a  carriage  driving 
quickly  up  to  the  house. 

"Who  can  that  be?"  wondered  Mrs.  Norton.  "It's 
after  half-past  nine." 

"Very  likely  it 's  Mr.  Burden,"  said  I;  the  first  mod- 
erately intelligent  remark  I  'd  made  since  we  were  left 
together. 

She  agreed  with  me  that  this  was  probable;  but  when 
fifteen,  twenty,  forty  minutes  passed  by  the  clock,  and 
Dick  did  not  appear,  she  changed  her  mind.  It  must 
have  been  someone  to  see  Sir  Lionel,  she  thought,  on 
business  that  would  n't  wait.  I  was  not  convinced  of 
this,  and  longed  for  her  to  ring  and  ask  a  footman  who 
had  come;  but  I  could  n't  very  well  suggest  it. 


438  SETINSILVER 

The  house  did  sound  so  silent,  that  my  ears  rang,  as 
they  do  when  one  listens  to  a  shell! 

Ten;  ten-fifteen;  ten-thirty;  a  Louis  Quatorze  clock 
chimed.  Hardly  had  it  got  the  last  two  strokes  out  of 
its  mouth,  when  Sir  Lionel  opened  the  door.  He  was 
pale,  in  that  frightening  way  that  tanned  skins  do  turn 
pale,  and  he  did  n't  seem  to  see  his  sister.  He  looked 
straight  past  her  at  me,  and  his  eyes  shone. 

"I  want  very  much  to  speak  to  you,"  he  said.  His 
voice  shook  ever  so  slightly,  as  if  he  were  going 
into  a  battle  where  he  knew  he  would  be  killed,  and 
felt  solemn  about  it,  but  otherwise  was  rather  pleased 
than  not. 

Then  I  knew  my  time  had  come.  I  almost  looked  for 
the  steps  of  the  guillotine,  but  I  was  suddenly  too  blind  to 
see  them  if  they  had  been  under  my  nose. 

"Very  well,"  I  said,  and  got  up  from  my  chair. 

"Oh,"  exclaimed  Emily,  "don't  go.  "If  you  have 
anything  to  say  to  Ellaline,  which  you  'd  like  to  say  to  her 
alone,  let  me  go.  I  am  getting  sleepy,  and  was  just 
thinking  about  bed.  Perhaps  I  might  say  good-night 
to  you  both?" 

"Good-night,  dear,"  answered  Sir  Lionel.  I  had 
never  heard  him  call  her  that  before. 

"  Say  good-night  to  Mrs.  Senter  for  me,"  went  on  Emily 
to  us  both. 

"Yes,"  said  Sir  Lionel.  But  I  don't  think  he  had 
heard. 

Mrs.  Norton  swished  silkily  out.  The  door  shut.  I 
braced  myself,  and  looked  up  at  him.  His  eyes  were  on 
my  face,  and  they  were  full  of  light.  I  supposed  it 


SET  IN  SILVER  439 

must  be  righteous  anger;  but  it  was  a  beautiful  look  — 
too  good  to  waste  on  such  a  passion,  even  a  righteous 
form  of  it. 

"You  poor  child,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  standing 
quite  near  me.  "  You  have  gone  through  a  great  deal." 

I  started  as  if  he  had  shot  me — that  way  of  begin- 
ning was  so  different  from  anything  I  had  expected. 

"Wh-what  do  you  mean?"  I  stammered. 

"  That  I  always  knew  you  were  brave,  but  that  you  're 
a  hundred  times  braver  than  I  thought  you.  Dick  has 
come  back.  He  has  brought  with  him  a  girl  and  a  man 
from  Scotland  —  bride  and  groom." 

All  the  strength  went  out  of  me.  I  felt  as  if  my  body 
had  turned  to  liquid  and  left  only  my  brain  burning,  and 
my  heart  throbbing  .  But  I  did  n't  fall.  I  fancy  I  caught 
the  back  of  a  tall  chair,  and  held  on  for  dear  life. 

"Ellaline,"  I  murmured. 

"Yes,  Ellaline,"  he  said.  "Thank  God,  you  are  not 
Ellaline." 

"  Thank  God  ?  "  I  echoed  in  weak  wonder. 

"  I  thank  God,  yes,  because  it  was  killing  me  to  believe 
that  you  were  Ellaline  —  to  believe  you  false,  and  friv- 
olous, and  a  flirt,  just  because  of  the  blood  I  thought 
you  had  in  your  veins.  And  I  exaggerated  everything 
you  did,  till  I  made  a  mountain  out  of  each  fancied  fault. 
That  fellow  Burden  brought  Ellaline  here  —  just  mar- 
ried to  her  Frenchman  to-day  —  because  he  wanted  to 
ruin  you.  He  told  me  with  pride  how  he  'd  ferretted  out 
the  whole  secret  —  traced  you  to  your  address  in  Ver- 
sailles, learned  your  real  name  —  told  everything,  in  fact, 
except  that  he  'd  been  blackmailing  you,  forcing  you  for 


440  SETINSILVER 

your  friend's  sake  to  actions  you  hated.  He  did  n't  tell 
me  that  part,  naturally,  but  there  was  no  need,  because 
I 


"  What  —  what  have  you  done  to  him  ?  "  The  words 
came  limping,  because  of  the  look  in  his  eyes,  which  shot 
forth  a  sword. 

"  Oh,  unluckily  it 's  under  my  own  roof,  so  I  could  do 
no  more  than  bid  him  clear  out  if  he  did  n't  want  to  be 
kicked  out!" 

"Gone!"  I  whispered. 

"  Yes,  gone.  And  as  Mrs.  Senter  's  very  loyal  to  her 
nephew,  she  prefers  to  leave  with  him,  though  she  has 
had  nothing  to  do  with  his  plottings  — did  n't  even  know, 
and  I  asked  her  to  stay.  She  insists  on  going  to-night  when 
he  does.  I  'm  sorry.  But  it  can't  be  helped.  I  cannot 
think  of  her  now." 

"Ellaline "  I  began  faintly;  but  he  cut  me  short, 

with  a  kind  of  generous  impatience.  "Yes,  yes,  you 
shall  see  her.  She  wants  to  see  you,  now  that  she  under- 
stands, but " 

"  Understands  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  that  little  beast,  Dick  Burden  — 
whose  mother 's  staying  near  where  Ellaline  was  in 
Scotland — went  there  straight  from  Bamborough,  and 
put  the  girl  up  to  believe  you  'd  been  playing  her  false  — 
prejudicing  me  against  her  interests,  trying  to  keep  for 
yourself  things  that  ought  to  be  hers;  so  apparently  she 
worked  herself  into  a  hysterical  state  —  must  have,  or 
she  would  n't  have  believed  him  against  you;  and  the 
instant  she  was  married  to  her  Frenchman,  who  'd  come 
to  claim  her,  all  three  dashed  off  here  to  '  confront '  you, 


SET  IN  SILVER  441 

as  that  cad  Burden  explained  to  me.  I  could  n't  under- 
stand what  they  were  all  driving  at  just  at  first,  but  I  saw 
that  the  girl  was  the  living  image  of  her  mother,  con- 
sequently the  thing  did  n't  need  as  much  explaining  in 
any  way  as  it  might  otherwise." 

"  She  was  horribly  afraid  you  would  n't  let  her  marry 
him,"  I  broke  in,  getting  breath  and  voice  back  at  last. 

"So  she  said.  Oh,  when  she  knew  Burden  had  lied 
to  her  about  you,  she  repented  her  disloyalty,  and  told 
me  how  you  hated  the  whole  thing.  I  don't  wonder  she 
thought  me  a  brute,  never  writing,  never  seeming  to  care 
whether  she  was  alive  or  dead;  I  see  now  I  was  a  brute; 
but  it 's  you  who  've  shown  me  that,  not  she.  However, 
she  will  reap  the  benefit.  I  daresay  three  months  ago  I 
should  have  growled  over  such  a  marriage,  felt  inclined 
to  wash  my  hands  of  the  girl,  perhaps,  but  now  —  now 
I  'm  delighted  to  have  her  married  and  —  off  my  hands. 
That  sounds  callous,  but  I  can't  help  it.  It 's  true. 
The  Frenchman  seems  a  gentleman,  and  fond  of  her  — 
trust  Ellaline  de  Nesville's  daughter  to  make  men  fall  in 
love!  — and  I  wish  them  both  joy." 

"  But  —  but  if  he  's  poor  ?  "  I  dared  to  question. 

"  Oh,  that  '11  be  all  right.  I  'm  so  thankful  for  the  way 
everything  has  turned  out,  I  'd  give  her  half  my  fortune. 
That  would  be  asinine,  of  course;  but  I  shall  settle  a 
thousand  a  year  on  her  for  life,  and  give  her  a  wedding 
present  of  a  cheque  for  twenty  thousand,  I  think.  Should 
you  say  that  would  be  enough  to  satisfy  them  ?" 

"They  ought  to  be  distracted  with  joy,"  I  said 
(though  deep  in  my  heart  I  knew  that  Ellaline  is  never 
likely  to  be  satisfied  with  anything  done  for  her.  She 


442  SET  IN  SILVER 

always  feels  it  might  have  been  a  little  more).  "But,"  I 
went  on,  "  maybe  it 's  selfish  to  think  of  myself 
now  —  but  I  can't  help  it  for  a  moment.  I  have  been 
so  ashamed  —  so  humiliated,  I  could  hardly  bear  — 
and  yet  I  know  you  won't,  you  can't,  see  that  there  's 
any  excuse " 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  that  I  thought  you  very  brave  ? " 
he  asked,  looking  at  me  more  kindly  than  I  deserved. 

"Yes.  And  I  was  brave."  I  took  credit  to  myself. 
"  But  brave  people  can  be  wicked.  I  have  hated  myself, 
knowing  how  you  'd  hate  me  when " 

"  I  don't  hate  you,"  he  said.  "  The  question  is  —  do 
you  hate  me  ?" 

I  gasped  —  because  I  was  so  far  from  hating  him;  and 
suddenly  I  was  afraid  he  might  suspect  exactly  how  far. 
"No,"  said  I.  "But  then,  that  is  different.  I  never 
had  any  reason  to  hate  you." 

"  Did  n't  EUaline  warn  you  I  was  a  regular  dragon  ?" 

I  could  n't  help  laughing,  because  that  had  been  our 

very  name  for  him.  "  Oh,  well,  she "  I  began  to 

apologize. 

"  You  need  n't  be  afraid  to  confess,"  said  he.  "  In  the 
exuberance  of  her  relief  at  finding  all  well,  and  not  only 
being  forgiven,  but  petted,  she  told  me  what  a  different 
man  I  was  from  the  murderous  image  in  her  mind;  and 
that  she  saw  now  you  were  right  about  me.  Is  it  possible 
you  defended  me  to  her?" 

"  But  of  course,"  I  said. 

"  In  spite  of  all  the  injustice  I  did  you  —  and  showed 
that  I  did  you  ?  " 

"  I   always  felt    myself    to    blame,   and    yet  —  yet   it 


SET  IN  SILVER  443 

hurt  me  when  I  saw  you  disapproved  of  me.  Since 
Chester " 

"  It  was  that  ring  stuck  in  my  throat,"  said  he. 

"You  knew?"  I  stammered,  turning  red. 

"  Saw  it  in  a  shop  window.  And  now  I  know  why  you 
did  it  —  why  you  did  everything,  I  think.  Heavens, 
what  good  it  would  have  done  me  to  kick  that  little  beast 
Burden  all  around  the  park!" 

"There  wouldn't  have  been  anything  left  of  him,  if 
you  had,"  I  giggled,  beginning  to  feel  hysterical.  "Oh, 
I  am  glad  he  's  gone,  though.  I  shall  be  going  myself 
to-morrow,  of  course,  but " 

" No,"  he  said.  "No,  that  must  not  be.  I  —  Ellaline 
wants  you." 

"Had  n't  I  better  see  her  now  ?"  I  asked  meekly. 

"  Not  yet.  Tell  me  —  did  that  cad  try  you  too  far 
at  Bamborough,  and  did  you  defy  him  ?" 

I  nodded  Yes. 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  He  did  n't  do  anything.  He  wanted  me  to  promise 
something." 

"To  marry  him  at  once?"  Sir  Lionel  was  looking 
dangerous. 

"  No-o.  It  was  n't  anything  about  me.  I  can't  tell  you, 
because  it  concerns  someone  else.  Please  don't  ask  me." 

"I  won't.  If  it  concerns  someone  else,  not  yourself, 
I  don't  care.  Yes,  I  do,  though.  Did  it  concern  me? 
Can  you  answer  me  that?" 

"I  can  answer  so  far,  if  you  don't  press  me  further. 

It  did  concern  you.  I  would  not  sacrifice  vou  to 

but  I  don't  want  to  go  on,  please!" 


444  SETINSILVER 

"You  shan't.  That 's  enough.  You  sacrificed  your- 
self rather  than  sacrifice  me.  You " 

"I  'd  sinned  enough  against  you." 

"You  gave  me  back  my  youth." 

"I?" 

"Don't  you  know  I  love  you  —  worship  you  —  adore 
you  ?" 

Yes,  he  said  that,  mother.  His  lips  said  it,  and  his 
dear,  dear  eyes.  I  looked  up  to  them,  and  mine  over- 
flowed, and  he  needed  no  other  answer,  for  he  took  me 
in  his  arms.  I  did  n't  know  people  could  be  so  happy. 
I  could  have  died  in  that  moment,  only  I  would  much, 
much  rather  live. 

In  a  few  minutes  we  told  each  other  heaps  of  things 
about  the  way  we  felt,  and  the  way  we  had  felt,  and  com- 
pared notes;  and  it  was  heavenly.  He  'd  bought  back 
the  darling  ring  in  Chester,  and  now  he  put  it  on  my 
finger  again;  and  I  'm  sure,  dearest,  that  you  won't  mind 
our  being  engaged  ? 

He  says  he  has  adored  me  ever  since  the  first  day,  and 
will  to  the  last,  then  on  into  the  next  world,  because 
there  can't  be  a  next  world  that  won't  be  full  of  his  love 
for  me.  And  I  adore  him,  ah,  how  I  adore  him — and  you 
will  come  here  to  live  w»th  us  in  this  beautiful  old  castle, 
where,  like  the  Prince  and  Princess  of  the  fairy  stories, 
we  will  be  happy  ever  after. 

I  have  seen  Ellaline,  and  she  is  well  and  hugged  me  a 
great  deal.  Her  Honore  is  really  very  handsome;  but  I 
can't  write  about  them  now,  though  they  have  been  so 
important  in  my  life;  and  without  them  there  would  have 
been  no  life  worth  speaking  of. 


SET  IN  SILVER  445 

Emily  and  Lionel  (I  am  to  call  him  that  now)  will  take 
me  to  you,  and  everything  shall  be  arranged  as  you  wish. 
Dear  little,  wise  mother,  I  wonder  if  you  ever  thought 
it  might  end  like  this  ?  I  did  n't.  But  he  is  the  most 
glorious  man  who  ever  happened.  Only,  he  didn't 
happen.  All  the  rest  of  the  world  —  not  counting  you  — 
happened.  He  just  had  to  be. 

Your  loving,  perfectly  happy 

AUDRIE. 


THE  END 


— _ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

4 


LD-U 
4WKFEB071 

CEB  06 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


3  1158  00792" 


PS 
3319 

W6?7s 


